


Escapeway

by pantswarrior



Series: The Cultists' Cycle [22]
Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Dark Magic, Delusions, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29142663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: Follow-up to "The Ore of Legend" - during which Sydney and Hardin have a long walk ahead of them. A long walk, alone with each other, while trying to physically and psychologically come to terms with what they've just experienced.
Relationships: Sydney Losstarot/John Hardin
Series: The Cultists' Cycle [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3668
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Large parts of this were already floating around in my head by the time I had finished "The Ore of Legend", just not in so much detail until Mithrigil egged me on to actually write it out. Thanks/sorry?
> 
> I'm not even sure how much this is a complete story, because like real world trauma, it doesn't just find a convenient stopping point where everything is neatly wrapped up. But, well... the road ends at Leá Monde, at least.

The two of them had spent many days resting out of doors under dappled sunlight, among the trees and the brush of the forest floor, keeping quiet and remaining low to the ground while the sun shone down, traveling mostly by night to evade notice. It was only logical, for they could not travel the roads at normal hours nor casually stay at an inn, given the large bounties on both their heads. Spending the mornings and afternoons in such a way was familiar, ordinary, and usually Sydney found it comfortable. Even nostalgic at times - the simplicity of a life of wandering, before it had become too dangerous for the brethren to roam the land; the intimacy of himself and Hardin with only each other for company, having set out on some particularly perilous or secretive mission.

This time, however, it was not ordinary. Though the morning had started off comfortably enough, that sense had faded as the reality of their situation sunk in.

Hardin was still weakened from the previous day's ordeal, and in no condition for travel by the time the sun began to set. Sydney knew it, and clearly Hardin knew it as well, for Sydney had been hearing the echoes again and again in his heart for hours. _We cannot stay here. We must go. It is not safe to remain._ And more personally, _I have to get out. ...I just want to leave this place and go home._ And yet aloud, Hardin said nothing, the arguments against it taking place within his own mind before he gave voice to his desires.

It was not as if Sydney did not feel the same. For the last night and better part of the day, they had remained within sight of what was left of the Crimson Blades' most recently occupied outpost, which was no longer fit to be occupied by any living being. The knights who had escaped the destruction had sought survivors initially, but had by the evening turned to planning their withdrawal from the area, making what preparations they could when their resources were buried beneath piles of rubble. They were not likely to come seeking the two men who watched near-silently from a stand of trees in the distance, for they too were presumed buried, but Sydney could not help being somewhat on edge with so many knights so close by. The peace of the gods had settled over him by night, so that they could both be blessed with sleep, but a day spent awake, with nothing to do but wait and watch and worry, had stretched that peace thin. If it were only Sydney's choice to make, he would have started for Leá Monde the moment they were free of the place.

But then there was Hardin. Hardin, who had nearly destroyed himself to free them. Sydney himself had many times drawn far more of the Dark than a mortal could withstand, and Hardin had watched over _him_ for a day or more at a time afterwards as he recovered. For Hardin, who _was_ mortal, recovery would take longer. How much longer, Sydney did not know, but certainly more than a day or so before he was fit for significant travel... and that was only taking into account the damage done by the Dark itself. What he had done _with_ the Dark, and what the Blades had done to him beforehand - Hardin did not seem to be thinking about these things yet, but it was likely only due to his preoccupation with wanting to set out... and recognizing that he could not.

Sydney held no resentment over Hardin's condition holding them back. In fact, what had been done to him in the past few days left him with all the more sympathy for Hardin's plight.

_He has no more of those potions for me... so all that will heal me now is time. ...We cannot stay here that long. We have stayed far too long as it is. Perhaps by night, so my weakness won't be so apparent... if I should fall, we need not fear anyone seeing any disturbance..._

It was true, Sydney had given him the last of the potions that might have helped to stabilize Hardin's condition. He'd had no idea when they set out that any of their number would need even one; it was only as a precaution that he'd brought any at all. Yet after the few he had brought, administered and rationed carefully so as to allow Hardin's body time to adjust, Hardin still had been intermittently dozing off without intending to, and it took him a moment to even sit upright without swaying. Either they remained hiding in the brush until Hardin was steady, or...

No knights were close by, or paying much attention to what lay in their direction. Sydney stood abruptly, causing Hardin to look up at him in surprise. Even turning his head from where he lay caused Hardin's dizziness and disorientation to return, but they'd kept low to the ground all day; of course it would startle him that Sydney had suddenly risen.

Ignoring Hardin's questioning look, for he suspected Hardin would not like the answer, Sydney strode away among the trees, looking about for what he sought. A low-hanging or fallen branch, perhaps a young tree - yet not too young, lest it be too slim and supple...

If nothing else, it felt good to Sydney, the standing and moving about. To be able to do something that might help. Perhaps a bit unexpectedly good, for there was a tension he had been barely conscious of, and just the act of standing helped some of it to drain away.

\-----

After everything they had just been through, Hardin knew it was absurd to feel that prickling of fear when Sydney stood and turned away. It would have been absurd even beforehand, for he knew Sydney, and Sydney knew him, and it had been made abundantly clear over the years they had known each other. Neither of them was perfect, each had their faults - _gods_ , but they had faults - yet none insurmountable. Each of them had accepted the other as he was, and they were... what they were, though they never could quite put a name to it.

Logically, Hardin knew this. Sydney could read his heart - Sydney knew him better than he could ever hope to know Sydney. There was not likely any significant revelation to come about him that could ever make Sydney turn away from him in truth, if he had not already done so before this time. Sydney had seen him at his lowest, at his worst, and still Sydney had risked ... not even his own life, so much more than that, and suffered torture on his behalf only the day before. 

But that was before Hardin had done... what he had done that night. What he had become. 

And if he were to think logically, he could remind himself that Sydney had brought him through it. Sydney had saved his life and his soul, when he had all but abandoned them to the Dark. Sydney had stayed by his side ever since, carefully administering what remedies he had on hand. There was no logical reason for Hardin to think that anything had changed between them.

It might have been his own repressed insecurities brought to the fore, or perhaps it was the murmurs of the Dark lingering within his heart, for the Dark must have resented him for denying it... after he had given in and embraced it, willingly accepted the power it offered. But he could not help but think about what great lengths Sydney had gone to. For him. And why? 

And what had Sydney received for his troubles, but this... worthless body, that prevented them from even leaving this accursed place?

Sydney could do no more for Hardin now that the potions were depleted - and Hardin could still do nothing for Sydney. He was holding Sydney back, weighing him down... Sydney must go. Yes, their brethren needed him. Hardin himself was of no consequence - he would tell Sydney, when he returned from whatever he was doing, to go on ahead without him. None of the Blades had come looking for them so far, and if Hardin kept still - as he was inclined to in his current weakness - they would have no reason to investigate the ground cover where he lay. Even if they did... it wouldn't matter, so long as Sydney was safe.

Somewhere off in the direction Sydney had gone, there was a great cracking sound, loud enough to jolt Hardin out of his thoughts. He started to try to sit up, then remembered - aside from the struggle within his mind, the ordeal was over; he could scrye. After having been separated from the Dark and left vulnerable in such a very specifically troubling way, he was still forgetting from time to time.

A short distance away, he found that Sydney was eyeing a large tree limb, long as he was tall and thick as his wrist, turning it end over end to examine it. His fingers easily snapped off the smaller twigs, and broke it off at the more narrow end, then drove that end against the ground with great force. The tip sank just a little ways into the earth, and though Sydney remained straight-faced, he seemed satisfied, pulling it free again with a small nod. For the life of him, Hardin had no idea what Sydney was doing.

Sydney began making his way back shortly after, once he had looked the limb over again, broken off a few patches of loose bark, and seemingly found it acceptable. This time Hardin did make himself sit up, for although he intended to tell Sydney he was not able to walk, he would have preferred Sydney to understand he did not make such a suggestion out of weakness. Even if it were, technically, the truth.

Sydney hesitated upon returning to see Hardin seated more or less steadily, a serious expression on his face. "...Am I to take this to mean you have recovered more of your strength?"

Hardin averted his eyes, shook his head very slightly. "Sydney... You need not stay here for my sake. I know not how long it may take before I'm fit for travel, but you have been too long from the brethren. And in that time, you have done more for me than I could have asked..." He had expected Sydney to break in with some argument by now, but perhaps Sydney was willing to just let him speak. He looked up to find Sydney regarding him calmly, as if Sydney did not know what he intended to say. Hardin said it anyway. "Go on back to Leá Monde without me. I will follow when I am able. Until that time... surely the gods that kept watch over us thus far will continue to do so."

Sydney only looked upon him for moments more, his expression impenetrable, then he shook his head. "You wish to leave this place behind even more than I. I would not leave you here alone with your thoughts - where the Blades and the Dark have failed to destroy you, I fear they might succeed."

That was... very true. And unexpectedly blunt for Sydney. Hardin wasn't sure what he could say - but perhaps that Sydney was vital, and he was of no particular-

"But your words are true - we cannot remain," Sydney interrupted those thoughts. "Are you willing to try?"

"...Yes, of course." He'd have been willing all along, but that Sydney kept telling him not to exert himself, to stay still and rest - though now Sydney bent to gather his belongings; his sword, his cloak, his satchel. Hardin had nothing left that had come with him but the clothes he wore, and it was just as well. To _try_ might be the most he could manage, given the dizzy spells and shakiness, and that was while bearing only his own weight. 

"Then come." Sydney held out his hand, the other once again holding the branch he had stripped. "First, we fly. Then we walk."

Hardin reached up to take hold of it, mindful of the sharp claws, as Sydney began to work the magic, and the Dark swirled around them at his command...

_...Remember...?_

Though Sydney had ensorcelled him in this way many times, this time Hardin felt somewhat unnerved when they reappeared elsewhere. Something was not right...

"In case walking goes more poorly than I expect," Sydney was saying by way of explanation. "Here closer to the road, further from the Blades, there is no underbrush for you to stumble into, to potentially make any excessive motion that might attract attention."

A double-edged sword, for in this open area where Sydney had brought them, there was no cover. "And if I cannot walk?"

"I believe you can." Sydney had let go of Hardin's hand after the spell had been cast, and now he offered the other - or rather, what it held. "This will help. And so will I," he added more softly, "if you require more."

Somehow Hardin had never even considered the idea of a staff to lean upon. For an instant the thought angered him; was he so weak? 

...Yes. Yes, he was. He sighed quietly, ignoring something troubling that teased around the edges of his thoughts, and reached out to take hold. "...Thank you."

Even with something to draw himself up on, rising all the way would have been a slow, humiliating process had Sydney not also assisted him, ducking under his shoulder to help lift. But then Hardin was up - and if still unsteady enough to lean upon the staff with both hands while he waited for the spinning of his head and the ringing in his ears to pass, at least he _was_ on his feet. It was a start.

Sydney simply stood by, waiting, saying not a word. Finally Hardin nodded. "All right..." he muttered, and dared to let go of the staff with one hand. He had done this much, and unexpectedly; he might manage more, if he but tried. That teasing at the edge of his thoughts told him it was hopeless, he was weak, surely he would die... He had been trying to ignore it, but for that moment he considered it. To die was to trouble Sydney no further. To be... free...?

It was worrying, how appealing it seemed. Yet regardless of what he thought about the chances, or which way he might come to be no further burden to Sydney... at present there was a choice, and Sydney had offered one of them. "To Leá Monde, then."

"To Leá Monde," Sydney agreed, stepping out before him on the road, backwards, keeping a watchful eye on him. "One step at a time."

"Indeed." The first was unsteady even with the staff to help him balance, the second nearly as much so, and Hardin decided it would be best not to keep count. For the time being, it would be as Sydney had said - one more, and one more, and one more. And though it seemed as if his body had forgotten how, being forced to move and walk might have been jogging its memory, for it was not long before Hardin did not have to _think_ so much about the mechanics of it, even if the lack of strength in his legs was agonizing, near terrifying.

After they had gone a little ways, Sydney walked beside him rather than before him, watching... and Hardin could think about other things. Unlike the ruins they were walking away from and the knights who had remained unaware of their continued presence for the past day, his thoughts followed him.

\-----

Sydney was not deceiving himself, believing that it would all be so simple as this. He knew some of what Hardin must be going through - the debilitation caused by drawing too much of the Dark was familiar to him, and that was enough to make the return trip slow and painful. The rest...

In truth, Sydney wondered if he would do better to eavesdrop on Hardin's heart, rather than respecting his boundaries and barriers as he usually did when there was no need. There might, he acknowledged, be need; Hardin's heart was nearly always shadowed, but now it felt outright blackened, as if it were glass scorched by fire, obscured by thick smoke. ...Which was perhaps to be expected, yet it troubled Sydney. Even so, he would wait, and watch, and listen.

Before long, what Sydney heard confirmed his more mundane concerns; Hardin had the will and control to make the journey, but little strength for it. The sun had barely sunk beyond the horizon before Hardin's breath was coming too heavily, and he was gripping the staff with both hands again. What thoughts escaped the barriers around his heart had nothing to do with what had put him in this state, but were only resolute. _One foot before the other. Do not fall. Do not fall. One more step. One more. And one more. ...This isn't..._

Sydney swiftly ducked beneath Hardin's arm again before his knees buckled, taking it up across his shoulders to keep him upright. Hardin's heart lit up with surprise, a moment of tender appreciation... and then fierce determination as he took another defiant step, supported by the staff on one side, Sydney on the other. _We_ will _make it home._

But not this night, Sydney thought, nor likely the next day. He could have kissed Hardin, or perhaps strangled him, for this abject foolhardy persistence was _so very_ Hardin - but it _was_ foolhardy, and it would do neither of them any good in the long run. He let Hardin go on only a bit further before he spoke up. "Already it is dark... we should stop to rest for the evening when we next come to an appropriate place."

Which was a poor excuse, as it was not their usual way. "...And then continue on through the night?" Hardin asked.

"Perhaps." Hardin almost certainly recognized the lie, yet he chose to say nothing. It was not necessarily a good sign, but for now, Sydney would be grateful for the lack of argument. If Hardin could make it just a bit further, he thought they were close to a place that might give them both something they desired, perhaps enough to calm Hardin's spirit somewhat.

With Sydney's support, Hardin did indeed manage to keep walking longer than Sydney had expected, and upon spotting the silhouette of a particular tree against the sky as the road curved to the south, Sydney barely refrained from a sigh of relief. "There," he gestured with his free arm. "I'm sure you recall stopping here in the past."

Hardin's attention was on moving forward, and relying as little as possible on Sydney for that, but he lifted his head to look. "I do."

A stream meandered through the area ahead, widening into a pond nearby - convenient for travelers who might need to drink and replenish their supply, or wash the dust of the road away. Sydney was presently more interested in the former, for what little water he'd had remaining upon being captured had mostly been relinquished to Hardin after they'd made their escape, thinning the potions and keeping him hydrated. Although by this time Hardin surely could use another drink, Sydney suspected he would be more interested in the latter use. "I'll go upstream to refill the skin," he murmured, helping Hardin to settle down by the water's edge. "When I return, we'll see what sort of rest we might take here, but in the meantime, if you'd like to refresh yourself..."

Hardin nodded, rubbed at his temple groggily. "Thank you. ...For everything."

Sydney could not quite suppress a sigh of exasperation as he rose. "Unnecessary, as always, but you are welcome."

Immediately he had mild regret, as he could _feel_ Hardin taken aback - but Sydney too was weary and strained, and he would have appreciated it if Hardin would stop thanking him, stop apologizing to him. Not only unnecessary, it was beginning to grate. Perhaps both of them would feel better once they had drunk, washed, and rested further from the place that had inflicted so much upon them both. Or it might only take time.

Already making his way upstream, Sydney glanced back at the sound of quiet splashing, to see Hardin making use of the fresh water as expected, cupping his hands first to douse his face. Given the season, the water was cool, and Sydney sensed the peculiar reaction to the chill upon Hardin's skin; he was certainly more alert now, but rather than refreshing, Hardin found it jarring, almost painful. Sydney understood - he did not quite seem to fit within his body still, and the sensations it provided were discordant, like an instrument not quite properly tuned. Sydney had felt the same, many times. With Hardin sitting by, offering what he could.

Despite the discomfort, Hardin was shrugging off his jacket with a dark frown at the pond's surface, for he would not let _water_ stand in his way - after days spent in... Regardless of his skittering thoughts, and the unsteadiness he still felt as he stared down into the water, he _would_ wash. 

Though they had gone some ways from the place where they had been held, distance had not lessened Hardin's longing for _escape_. Sydney paused, turned back slightly. "Hardin..." 

Hardin looked up at the address. Sydney wished it were _only_ Hardin's unsteadiness that prompted him to call out again. "Please try not to drown yourself before I have returned."

Hardin just nodded, but Sydney felt the shiver in his heart. He hoped his words served as admonishment to the darkness that hung over Hardin, rather than inspiration.

\-----

Sydney had told him, and he had already been somewhat aware, that the damage the Dark had done to him might cause him to feel strangely for a time, as the bond between body and soul would need to heal after being nearly severed. It was just as any wound, though it could not be seen, and the effects... very different. 

Hardin was familiar with simply being exhausted, to the pain that would come when walking upon a turned ankle or carrying a burden with an arm that had taken a blow. This was not _pain_ exactly, but a dissonance. Something akin to taking off one's own boots and accidentally putting on those of another the next morning - except that it was his skin itself that was ill-fitting, leaving him alternately sliding around within or close to bursting, a bit too tall and improperly balanced, worn in at the wrong places and feeling stiff where one expected to be supple.

Cold water upon his face normally woke him when he felt groggy, left him feeling refreshed. Now it felt like an assault, as if shards of ice were embedding themselves within his skin, yet almost burning as it dripped away. At least, that was how it had felt the first time, and after baring himself to the waist, he found himself hesitating at the thought of touching it again.

But this was absurd, he reminded himself sternly. It was only water. And as disconnected as he might have felt from his body, he could feel that his lips were parched, his throat sore. And to be truthful, he felt as dirty inside as out - perhaps he would do better to drink of it beforehand. At first, he thought it had been a good idea; the chill of the water was a relief going down, cooling and numbing his mouth and his throat, but by the time he was leaning down again to cup his hands for more, he could _feel_ it within him, without the soothing effects Sydney's potions had offered, and his stomach did not appreciate it.

Well then - while his inside reaccustomed itself to water, his outside would also. His cupped hands instead poured the water over his head, and he paused there, letting himself examine and adjust to the feel of it upon his scalp, dripping along his tensed jaw and down to his neck. Already he thought it might not have been so bad as the first time, and he submerged his arms to the elbows, determined. Such discomfort as this was insignificant after what he and Sydney had already been through. If they had endured long enough to make it out, both of them somehow alive, then he could endure _bathing_. 

The next time he splashed the water against his face and neck, it _almost_ felt invigorating rather than intolerable, and he decided to try to remove his boots as well. The prospect of submerging himself still seemed unwise, but he could still smell the stench of oily torch smoke and feel the dust upon his skin from when the hold had begun to crumble above them. _That_ was truly intolerable, that anything from that place should follow him. In spite of his weakness, his trousers and smallclothes followed his boots quickly.

The pond where they had stopped was neither large nor deep, barely more than the widening of a stream before it flowed on elsewhere, so Hardin supposed it was not so dangerous for him to try to stand with the assistance of the staff, that he might wade in up to his knees before kneeling. The chill made him shiver, and had he been stronger he might have risen again at once. As he could not, it was fortunate that his body was beginning to remember what cold water was _supposed_ to feel like, becoming less alien and more familiar the longer he remained in the flow - though it was still _quite_ cold, and he suddenly caught himself unexpectedly watching his own body from the bank. As if he sought escape from the shortcomings of the flesh. Again...

Hardin shook his head firmly, and stopped scrying at once. He was in no danger here. He was merely cold. 

He was also as of yet unwashed, and he made himself duck under the surface momentarily, letting the water wash over all of him. It was a pity he had none of the usual luxuries of a proper bath, not even so much as a cloth to scrub away anything from that place that might cling to him. No doubt he could have used a shave as well, he thought as he at least rubbed his hands over his skin, and felt the roughness at his neck. He tended to keep a razor on him, but the Blades had emptied his pockets after capturing him, and though they found nothing unusual, they had given nothing back. Now that his body's sensations were beginning to return to normal, at least when it came to the water, Hardin closed his eyes and imagined how good it might have felt to have a proper bath and a shave. A smooth metal blade in his hands, sliding along his skin, trimming away the uneven overgrowth... slicing into flesh, warmth dripping... water tinted red...

"Hardin."

Sydney's soft voice woke Hardin from his reverie - and what had he been thinking, he realized suddenly? How had his thoughts turned so? And Sydney - had Sydney...

Sydney was squatting down on his heels at the water's edge, beside Hardin's clothing, holding a waterskin that looked full to bursting. If he had heard, his expression - or the lack thereof - showed no sign of it, but it also might have been that he did not want Hardin to _think_ he had heard...

Of course, being alarmed or flustered were a good way to _ensure_ that Sydney knew something had troubled him, and Hardin rubbed a damp hand against his forehead, trying to exorcise the sudden disorientation. "Yes... I'm sorry, my thoughts seem to be prone to wandering. What is it?"

Sydney gave him a small smile. "Nothing, so long as only your thoughts wander. I returned to find you still and staring - as if you were somewhere far away. I thought to rouse you, lest your body also think itself somewhere other than in the water. Yet it seems to be more agreeable now?"

"...In some ways." It still seemed like ice against his skin, though it could not possibly have been so cold - but he did feel cleaner, and he was becoming more accustomed to the way it felt to have the slight current flowing around him.

"Good." Apparently seeing that Hardin was not in need of any immediate assistance, Sydney sat down, setting the waterskin aside and the satchel he carried as well. "I know this is frustrating, Hardin, but even slow progress is progress."

Hardin wasn't sure what to say, after that strange dark turn to his thoughts, so he just nodded and went on with his bathing. If there _was_ progress, then yes, that was good. He just wasn't certain.

"Though we've found a bit of ill fortune," Sydney added after a moment. "In having planned only for a mission that might take a few days at best, during which several of us would be together, I carried provisions enough only for myself - and for perhaps half the time we have been away from Leá Monde. Though none was consumed while we were delayed-" Hardin was grateful for the intentionally vague phrasing. "-already there was very little remaining."

"You may have what is left," Hardin muttered. "I had a bit of water, and my stomach finds even that to be disagreeable."

Sydney only nodded. "You know that I am _quite_ familiar with this manner of affliction - I had hoped it might sit differently with you."

Hardin shook his head slightly, falling still within the water once more, letting it wash about him. "...And considering how I have been thus far, I would hope that it _does_ sit differently with you. It is..." He would have said unbearable, but for Sydney's sake, he would bear it.

"Hardin..." Sydney murmured, his eyes downcast. 

If there was a thought to be completed there, he never voiced it. Instead, after a moment, he reached for the satchel he'd set aside, his hands seeking through it in the dark until he found what he was looking for. Having done so, he seemed to set that aside as well, then reached up to unfasten his cloak. 

Hardin just watched absently - and how strange that he could watch in any way other than with desire - as Sydney divested himself of his own clothing, then stood to wade into the water beside Hardin. His metal claws glinted in the dim light of the stars and waxing crescent moon as he shook something out with one hand - a swatch of the coarse cloth in which they had wrapped their bread before setting out.

Immediately Hardin understood, and in spite of everything, he found himself smiling slightly, bowing his head as Sydney knelt at his side. Sydney understood him well also, even his smallest habits and preferences, and Hardin felt obligated to say it. "You don't have to."

"I want to," Sydney replied simply, wetting the cloth and reaching up to wash Hardin's back, mindful that the tips of his fingers did not pierce through. 

"...Far be it from me to try to persuade you from something you want to do."

"Exactly."

For all that physical sensations seemed not quite right to Hardin, he could not think of any time before that Sydney had washed his back, the sharp points of the claws gentled behind the fabric. It was a strange sensation too, but perhaps because he had never felt it before, it was not so jarring. And yes - to have his skin scrubbed clean, regardless of how it felt physically, it did his heart good.

And then, too, this brought back an old memory. A night that must have been nearly... almost exactly four years ago now, Hardin thought, brighter than this night. Finding Sydney bathing alone in a lake, being coaxed into the water that was much too cold, until Sydney taught him to accept it. Sydney, who had looked like some manner of fey spirit in the moonlight, his hair dripping as their bodies pressed warm against each other within the cold of the water. Perhaps Sydney heard the memory in Hardin's heart, or perhaps he too remembered, for he paused briefly, reaching up to turn Hardin's face towards his, leaning in for a gentle kiss. 

Either way, there was to be no repeat of that night. Whether because his body still felt awkward and ill-fitting, or simply because he was so exhausted, or for any number of other reasons, even Sydney's kiss juxtaposed with the memory did not arouse Hardin's desire. He appreciated it nonetheless.

Sydney did not seem put off by a less than passionate response, likely because as he had said, he had experienced the same sort of affliction many a time. He only continued on, working the cloth over Hardin's chest and shoulders, then wringing it and turning it to his own torso. Not that Hardin had forgotten - he'd found his memory drawn back nearly every time he'd caught a glimpse of Sydney's bare chest beneath the cloak - but again he recalled what he had seen, what had caused the traces of blood and ash that had not yet worn away from Sydney's skin. He was not the only one who suffered - Sydney had suffered just as much, perhaps more, and yet he was-

"Hardin. Don't."

The soft rebuke made Hardin sigh softly. "I apologize... I just-"

"Don't." This time, Sydney's tone was more forceful. "As you can see, I have recovered. Well enough to look after you, in fact."

And he shouldn't have to, for he had already done so much for Hardin's sake. But he spoke truth, and Hardin just nodded in resignation.

"You should get out," Sydney added. "The sooner you dry, the sooner you may dress, and comfortably sleep."

That too was true enough, and Hardin obliged, finding the staff that had helped him down into the pond and taking it up again. If nothing else, whether it was the water or time to sit quietly or the reassurance of Sydney's presence, it seemed easier for him to stand than it had been only a short time ago, and his thoughts for the moment were peaceful, if pensive.

\-----

It was well that Sydney _had_ recovered, for he was beginning to suspect more damage had been done to Hardin than he had first believed. In the morning, when he'd first woken, Hardin had in fact seemed more lucid than he might have expected. As solicitous as ever, at the expense of his own comfort insisting on easing only the ordinary aches in Sydney's neck and shoulders after having slept at an awkward angle. Hardin's body accepted the potions Sydney had brought, and the shaking and dizziness had faded greatly.

But perhaps it was the physical difficulties, or his concern for Sydney, that had distracted Hardin's mind from wandering, and it was only when he was more safe and comfortable that the other lingering effects began to show themselves.

The Dark was insidious. It was no tool to be used, or an technique to be mastered, but a trickster that one must keep a watchful eye on, a rival who must be wrestled with and brought to submission before it would do as instructed. True, Sydney's relationship with the Dark was a bit different than most, and none among his followers used so much of it to require such measures regularly - they asked respectfully for small favors, and the Dark was pleased to display its power. 

But Hardin... Hardin was stronger than most, if still nowhere remotely approaching Sydney's power. Always respectful of the Dark, always cautious in its use, but capable of drawing a great deal of power to and through himself if he so required. Enough that if he had not always been so cautious, his will so strong, Sydney would never have dared teach him such powerful magic as greater summons.

Never had Sydney expected that a situation might arise where Hardin would attempt a summon he knew he might not be capable of. Never had he expected that Hardin would test his limits so severely and even push past them, desperate for more of the power than he could control. And had he expected any of this, he would not have expected that Hardin would survive.

Since he had, Sydney could not imagine that he would not have sustained deeper wounds than Sydney had ever witnessed in his lifetime, severely damaging the tenuous bond between body and soul - for the wounds Hardin sustained _should_ have been mortal, and would have been if not for Sydney's intervention and the convenient peculiarity caused by Hardin's innate talent.

And unlike himself, Hardin was not accustomed to the games the Dark played at such a level, the tricks and the seditious murmurs. Thank the gods his will was strong, that he had already proven himself capable of resisting when he was aware that he was being seduced in such a way. Yet the Dark had learned him intimately, it knew of the fears and the rage and the despair buried so deep that even Hardin himself barely recognized the springs from whence they occasionally burst forth. The Dark could and would use such vulnerabilities to get what it desired.

As for its respect for Sydney... he had stood in the way of what the Dark desired, barring it from taking Hardin as its own. To work against Sydney himself would be self-destructive, but it might gleefully reassert itself by trying to claim Hardin despite his efforts, returning to the damage they had wrought upon his soul.

To one who looked upon Hardin physically, nothing would appear obviously wrong aside from his weakness, but for those who knew him well. He was only sitting beside the pond, shivering slightly from the breeze upon wet skin and hair, seemingly lost in thought, glancing up momentarily at the quiet splashing as Sydney stood to leave the water himself. But his eyes were too dull, and there was a strange tenor to his heart, a sense of hollowness, where something had been worn away. It was not unlike like an invader who had been driven off, Sydney thought - yet their hole had already been dug beneath the wall, an easy route inside should they return.

Hardin looked up again in mild surprise as Sydney's cloak settled about his shoulders. "...Thank you, but-"

He was halted by Sydney shaking his head. "You've dried more than I - you will not get it so wet as I would."

Once again Hardin had no argument, and he just nodded silently, pulling it a bit closer around his shoulders while Sydney sat and ate what had been left of the bread, meager and mostly stale. No matter what condition Hardin might be in, they _must_ return to Leá Monde; both of them were weakened, and Hardin would only grow more so if he could not eat. He needed rest - true rest, in safe surroundings - and Sydney needed strength to guide him to that rest. With little food remaining, that would be difficult to come by. At least it was autumn, and though they would not likely see other travelers on the abandoned highway, there might be fruit clinging to the trees, perhaps such greens that they could make some sort of vegetable broth if they were forced to stop for long enough. In another day or so, Hardin might even be able to stomach it.

Yet the physical component was the easiest part of the riddle to solve, and the least consequential. The body of a man, even one so fit as Hardin, was inherently fragile, easily damaged and destroyed, but also resilient. Its many infirmities were obvious, and most of them would heal given acknowledgement and time. But what of a man's soul, invisible even to he who possessed it, impossible to grasp or even define what it _should_ be? How could one assess the damage, identify what must be done?

...There was none better equipped than he in this case, Sydney supposed. No one but he knew Hardin's soul so well, the shape it normally took - though already bearing many scars from more ordinary spiritual wounds, a difference akin to a cutting wound versus being... burned, perhaps.

Sydney's ponderings were interrupted by the thought. He found himself staring at the hand that rested upon his knee. Turning it over, curling the blades of his fingers together, straightening them again. ...There was also, he thought, a difference between being unsettled in a relatively productive way, and simply being unsettled in a way that discouraged rational thinking. 

It was unlike Hardin not to notice when Sydney stood suddenly this time, but he remained still, never raising his disinterested gaze from the pond until Sydney spoke aloud as well. "I don't anticipate anyone disturbing our slumber this night," he said, reaching for his clothing. "Not along this road, especially past this hour. Yet rather than take unnecessary risks, I will set a ward."

Hardin reached for his own clothes at the reminder, but wisely did not offer. He knew his limitations, and obviously recognized that such spells were yet beyond him. Even rising to his feet again this night would be a feat, Sydney heard his heart admit.

Sydney's metal limbs were not like those of flesh - they did not tire, and after being submerged, the water simply rolled off. Sydney tugged his leggings up over his legs with no resistance, and he was accustomed enough to his unusual fingers that they did not slow him in the lacing - though they trembled a bit, and that did not improve matters. 

But it was not unheard of, and Sydney had his boots on as well by the time Hardin had managed so much as his smallclothes. "I would not fault you if you fall asleep by the time I return," he added, turning to go. "Though I would recommend trying a bit more water first. If you can manage it, you will feel better when you wake." Already heading back upstream, he sensed Hardin's small nod rather than seeing it, the resigned acknowledgement that he was likely right.

Sydney was already turning his attentions to other matters. The ward, for one; given that only one of them was able to cast, and neither could Hardin have been of much use at present even if Sydney had offered him his own sword, it seemed best to set a wide perimeter, to offer Sydney more advance warning should someone happen upon them. It would require rather more walking than he ordinarily would need to do in order to protect just himself and one other, but that was acceptable. Preferable, even. If not for the need to watch over Hardin, Sydney would have walked through the night, or at least until his own heart had calmed somewhat. 

But all went as expected. The lines of power that ran through the land lay as they should, the Dark responded readily to his command as he wove the energies together, and his steps did not falter. There was no reason for him not to return to Hardin once he was finished, but perhaps to help tire himself.

Given the nature of his legs, it did not work so well as it might have for an ordinary man, but at least he had had a bit of time to himself before returning to the side of the pond. Hardin was dressed again and lying down but not yet asleep, though he did not lift his head or even open his eyes upon hearing Sydney's footfalls - scrying, most likely, Sydney supposed. "Already water seems slightly more tolerable," Hardin noted drowsily. "If you set a ward, I'm assuming you intend to sleep?"

"...I hope so." It was perhaps more honest an answer than he might have given, but Hardin would not fault him for it, even if he noticed. 

"Then, as we have no blankets..." Hardin shifted, reaching for something at his side - the cloak, Sydney realized as Hardin stretched out his arm. "I had thought we might share this, unless you would have it for yourself."

Hardin knew him better than that. When Sydney had relinquished his cloak, he had meant for the offer to last until Hardin no longer had use for it, or until he needed it back. "I had hoped you would make use of it tonight... but your suggestion is not unappealing," he admitted with a faint smile, sitting down to remove his boots again. "If it does not trouble you to have me lying against you?" After all, he was familiar with Hardin's infirmity, and knew what it did to the sense of touch.

Hardin shook his head, smiling a very faint and tired smile himself. "I suppose it might... but I would rather try it than have both of us unnecessarily sleeping alone, one of us without cover."

Even in such discomfort as this, Hardin was inherently pragmatic. Inherently _Hardin_. It made Sydney feel a bit better as he lay down at Hardin's side, resting his head upon Hardin's shoulder, his arm stretched across Hardin's chest as it so often was when they slept. Whatever the Dark had done to him, the John Hardin he knew was still there.

He just had to _protect_ that, Sydney thought as they lay together in the dark with the cloak drawn over them both, the faint burbling of pond and stream and the breeze through the grass the only sounds. Perhaps what had damaged would heal, if he were to just protect what remained intact. 

Which reminded him of a thought that had come to him earlier, and before they had lay there so long as to fall asleep, he spoke up again. "Hardin... I must ask something of you."

"Mmm?" Though not asleep, Hardin was well on his way, but roused himself enough to pay attention. "What would you have me do?"

"Only make me a promise," Sydney told him. "Until I have given you permission, cast no spells."

Hardin actually chuckled, albeit bitterly. "...I don't anticipate casting anytime soon."

"Ideally I would ask you not to scrye as well, but I recognize your talent comes naturally, and you may not always think to do so consciously," Sydney added. "Yet I would prefer you refrain from using the Dark, whether drawing it or merely touching it, for the time being."

Hardin nodded drowsily. "That seems... sensible, considering..." He didn't finish the thought, whether because he was too weary - or more likely, he didn't want to voice it aloud. "I will try. ...If I remember this conversation in the morning." He paused a moment to yawn. "If I do not, remind me."

Sydney certainly would, if there was need, though it was true that Hardin was unlikely to try spellcasting anytime soon. Unless, of course, there was some sort of emergency... Seeing as that was precisely what had led to Hardin's current state, in spite of all his caution in the past, it was not unthinkable that it could happen again.

But unlike the evening before, Sydney was present, and in full command of his powers. What Hardin had done had been out of desperation to save _Sydney_ as much as to free himself. Though unlike many, Hardin did not see Sydney as a god, Sydney still represented his salvation.

Sydney lay awake for a long time, far longer than it took for Hardin to fall asleep. In the moonlight, his eyes were drawn to the shine of his hand resting upon Hardin's chest, turning at the wrist, restlessly fidgeting. Restless, frustrated, or otherwise, he would bring Hardin home safely.

\-----

Sydney did not often dream ordinary dreams. Or perhaps he dreamed them more often than he knew, and it was only that he, as many men, forgot such inconsequential dreams quickly upon waking, as they were displaced by his visions and prophecies.

Yet he was certain it was an ordinary, meaningless dream from which he had awoken with a start, his heart pounding. He reminded himself as he lay there, trying to catch his breath, that he knew the Lady, and he knew she would not have stood by and done nothing, as if it were only...

Sydney abruptly realized it was not only his own dream that was causing the terror to linger. Beneath the arm he had been trying to keep still, Hardin's chest also rose and fell too quickly, and from him Sydney felt the panic of being smothered, the desperate need to escape.

Sydney hesitated only an instant before sitting up, leaning over Hardin to shake his shoulders gently, then more firmly when there was no reaction. Hardin had never cared to acknowledge that he still had such dreams as this, and normally Sydney would accede to his secret shame, saying and doing nothing. After their recent experience, Sydney was reluctant to allow it to run its course, for this time it seemed worse, and no wonder.

He found himself suddenly halted as Hardin's right hand shot up, grabbing hold of him by the throat.

Though Sydney could not be killed in such a way, it was still alarming that Hardin would do this. That it was _Hardin's_ thumb pressing in hard below his jaw, _Hardin's_ fingers gripping his neck, squeezing so that he couldn't breathe. It was likewise Hardin's rage that had acted, from what Sydney could sense from him, but there was something else at play, whispering in his ear, clouding his mind.

It had not clouded it enough, however. After a few seconds - long, lingering seconds, but not enough for Sydney to think of what he might do - Hardin's barely opened eyes went from cold slits to wide in alarm, and immediately he pulled his hand back as if _he_ had been attacked. "Gods! Sydney - I didn't - what..."

Sydney coughed, shaking his head as he settled back on his heels. "I know, Hardin," he breathed. "I know you would never intentionally..." Again he coughed. "You've done no lasting harm... I assure you."

"I swear, by the gods," Hardin said again, struggling to sit up as well, "I didn't know... I didn't know it was you..."

Sydney still felt as if he were choking, and instinctively started to lift his own hand before recognizing that trying to rub away the tightness with his own fingers would be rather unhelpful. All of a sudden he found himself furious, and he swatted away Hardin's hand as it reached out to soothe this time. "I know that, Hardin - let me be," he snapped, rising to his feet. Hardin was looking up at him, startled and wounded, and through the fury Sydney felt a twinge of shame. "Just let me be for a moment," he repeated, and hoped it came out less angrily. It wasn't Hardin he was angry at. 

Just as it hadn't been him that Hardin had been angry at. It was only that the two of them were alone, together. It came to Sydney that perhaps that was not a good idea at the moment, and having paced back and forth a few times, instead he turned and stalked away, heading upstream again. Just until he'd pulled himself together somewhat.

Ironically, Hardin would have been an ideal way to vent his rage under normal circumstances. Sydney found himself with the urge to tear, to shred, to feel destruction beneath the blades that served as his fingers, and Hardin somehow found it arousing to let himself be used for the purpose of sating Sydney's anger, perhaps that he might grant Sydney pleasure and peace. But Hardin was in no condition for such things now - and furthermore, Sydney found himself suddenly wary of the entire process. The sudden fit from Hardin had distracted him from his own dream - a dream where his limbs had moved without his volition. It might not have been unexpected after what had happened in the past week, but it still brought forth suggestions Sydney would rather not have considered.

Since his childhood, he had considered his artificial limbs, animated by the Dark itself, a symbol of his coming power, of his destiny. It had at times caused unpleasantness and inconvenience, yes, but they remained an honor. His flesh had been sacrificed to the gods, a sign that his existence would be dedicated entirely to their service. But in the absence of the Dark, what were they but useless metal, dead as an empty suit of armor? If he could not move them without the Dark, what did that say about _how_ they worked through the Dark? The Dark craved pain, craved bloodshed... What if the dark desires he felt in them were not even his own?

He gritted his teeth, kneeling in the grass to push the blades into the earth before him, burying them up to where a knuckle might have been on an ordinary hand. He clenched his fists in the sod, ripping and slicing through roots, breaking the soil. It was not quite the same, but it was... something. And it was something that did not involve blood.

And speaking of one's darkest desires, he should not leave Hardin alone for long, particularly when he had been experiencing such confusion and self-loathing even before that unfortunate accident. Though he found that he could still feel Hardin - thank the gods for that, he suspected he would never take that aspect of his ability for granted again - waiting there where Sydney had left him, and he seemed troubled but not utterly despairing. 

Yet the thought of going back to Hardin, hearing him apologize again, no doubt repeatedly, and having to repeatedly reassure him when Hardin was _incapable_ of believing in his horror that truly no harm had been done... It only angered Sydney further. There was nothing he could say to put Hardin's mind at ease, and nothing he could do to put his own mind at ease. He knelt there a bit longer, fitfully shredding the sod, then made himself rise, rinsing the dirt from his hands in the stream before returning swiftly to where he'd left Hardin. 

Predictably, at the first glimpse of him in the darkness, Hardin opened his mouth to try to apologize, to try to explain. "Sydney... I am so-"

His words were cut off by Sydney's mouth covering his own. There was a faint sound of protest, or perhaps merely surprise, as Sydney all but shoved him back upon the ground, climbing atop him and muffling any further talk with a firm, unrelenting kiss. Sydney's hands remained safely upon the ground, and Hardin held his away as if he was afraid to touch... then, hesitantly, Sydney felt them alight upon his back with the softest hint of a caress.

It was tempting to continue, particularly as Sydney wanted so badly to release some of his own tension, but Hardin was still lacking in strength, and Sydney thought that his point had been made. Pushing himself up again, he gave Hardin one last forceful kiss before lying down at his side once more, reaching for the cloak that had covered them. "Go back to sleep, Hardin. Let us hope for no more dreams."

Hardin paused, then chuckled weakly. "...Thank you."

Sydney did not respond, except to tuck the edge of the cloak around Hardin as they resumed their former position.


	2. Day Two

Hardin supposed it was a good thing that Sydney had gotten up before he did, and there was no one at his side upon waking. It was a mite curious that he had managed to do so without waking Hardin as well... Possibly he had done that trick he did at times, a minor spell that kept a partner asleep despite small disturbances. Ordinarily it annoyed Hardin, but he supposed he needed the sleep... and after the previous night, he could understand why Sydney might not want him to be startled awake.

The memory of it made his guilt and his shame return, and they must have been sharp enough to be noticeable to a heartseer, for before he could begin to think too much upon it, he was greeted. "Ah, good. Setting aside anything but this moment, how are you feeling?"

So Sydney still didn't want to talk about it. A blink of his eyes earlier had told Hardin little more than that it was well into a clear day, but now he opened them properly, turning his head in the direction of Sydney's voice.

...At times, Sydney was still startlingly beautiful to Hardin. He was doing nothing of significance, merely sitting on a rock near the water's edge, yet something about the way he was perched there made him look as if he was some sort of woodland spirit who belonged within the scene - the sparkling of the sun on the water and upon his fingers, the breeze ruffling the grass and his hair, the hint of a smile which grew slightly deeper and more sly, presumably because he'd heard Hardin think it.

Why would such a being even look upon someone like him, Hardin wondered? Sydney's simple sunlit beauty made him feel all the more that he didn't belong. Someone so awkward, weak, filled with confusion and shadows, far too... physical...

But Sydney had asked him a question, Hardin reminded himself with a start, and he considered the answer. Obviously he must have been thinking more clearly if he could even think back so far, and as for the rest... "Better, I think," he replied, rubbing at his eyes - and lifting his arm was enough to confirm it. "Tired... but it seems not to be lack of sleep. More that I would rather not move..."

"It is to be expected - you've not eaten properly for some time, or at all for two days." Sydney rose. "That too is to be expected, given what the Dark wrought on your body. But if you think you can, I've saved out a bit of the dried fruit that I had remaining."

Hardin considered, and shook his head with a sigh, starting to sit up. "Too sweet to my mind. I'll try more water first." Aside from the lack of strength in his limbs, movement _did_ seem less perilous than it had been even the night before.

"That we have, and in spades," Sydney remarked. "I expect we should not be in danger of running low again, as we know the road."

Hardin nodded. There were further streams and old wells along the way to Leá Monde - assuming he was fit to travel. He was unsure, and not pleased about being unsure.

Sydney seemed to be thinking much the same. "I would point out as well that we _could_ remain here until you've recovered enough to eat. Yet already there is little enough to sustain either of us for the rest of the journey, let alone both. I had thought to see what might remain on the trees ahead, and what else could be scavenged. Unfortunately I've found nothing of much use to us here."

Again Hardin nodded, and knelt by the water to drink. This time it did feel more predictably refreshing against his skin, and though he drank slowly and sparingly, it did not feel so strange within him. "...Yes, somewhat better," he confirmed. Even so, they were left with an uncomfortable journey ahead one way or the other. "But Sydney... I know not how long this may last."

"Not so long, I would think, if you can take water without discomfort."

"Even so, if there is so little food remaining, and I have no appetite _or_ strength," Hardin pointed out, "you could go on your own. If I remember this place correctly, we've already put some distance between us and the-"

Sydney was shaking his head. "Blades or no Blades, I would not leave you alone in this condition. Especially as they took your sword - and perhaps I must remind you that I asked you not to cast."

That was right - Hardin had nearly forgotten about that drowsy promise. "Yet I would be in little danger, if I kept myself back from the road."

"And once you were feeling well enough for food," Sydney proposed, sitting next to him to look him in the eye, "after perhaps another day weakening you further from the lack of it, how would you acquire something to eat?"

He had a point. Even so, surely Hardin could manage to scavenge something, being as well-versed in woodlore as Sydney - but before he could open his mouth to say so, Sydney spoke again, his tone firm. "I did not leave you behind, Hardin, and I will not leave you behind now."

That might have been meant as reassurance, but at the moment it only heightened Hardin's shame. "...I apologize. I am slowing your return to our brethren."

"Was I more concerned for the rest of our brethren than _one_ of our brethren," Sydney stated, "I would go to them."

Hardin sighed. The conversation was not making him feel any better - only more ashamed and angry at himself. 

"It is up to you whether or not you think you can travel," Sydney told him, still meeting his eyes with that steadfast, serious gaze. "Either we go or we stay - but we go together, or we stay together."

That was not a choice Hardin wanted to be entrusted with. He wanted to return to Leá Monde - he wanted to be _home_. Surely Sydney did as well. And although they had plenty of brothers and sisters left behind who were more than capable of handling matters in their absence, given the Blades' recent activities, Hardin would rather have been there, and Sydney undoubtedly felt the same. 

And it was his fault Sydney had been parted from them, and now he was keeping Sydney from returning. Hardin looked about for the crude staff Sydney had given him. "When shall we depart?"

The staff was behind Sydney, and he reached to retrieve it. "Whenever you are certain. The skin is full, and I've already had a small breakfast."

"I am already certain," Hardin muttered, setting the staff to help him stand. "It is only a matter of... my body agreeing."

"Your body is a part of you," Sydney observed, moving back and standing up himself. "If it is not certain, you are not certain."

Hardin did not like being reminded of that at the moment... that his heavy, awkward, uncooperative body was a part of him. That he could not leave it behind... But he could get to his feet with only the help of the staff, the dizziness faded quickly enough, and though weak, at least his limbs no longer trembled. After a moment leaning on it more heavily than he would have liked, he nodded. "...Very well. Let's see if it can go far enough to make the day worthwhile."

Sydney nodded in return, smiling in a way that seemed quite satisfied. "I will count it worthwhile should we make any progress at all," he said, resting his hand on Hardin's shoulder for a moment before gathering up his own few belongings, tossing the cloak over his own shoulders.

As Hardin had expected... Sydney had been hoping for just such an answer. Hardin only wished he could give more assurance of it, for Sydney deserved better than this.

Instead, Sydney made him yet another offer. "...It might help to start us on our way if I were to cast a spell of invigoration," he remarked, glancing back. "If you are comfortable with being ensorcelled at the moment."

Hardin almost agreed, for perhaps it would make him less of a burden in the long run if he could get a quicker start. Then he remembered when they'd set out the evening before, when Sydney had cast the spell to transport the two of them a bit further from the knights. The whispering in his mind as the Dark worked through him... At the mere thought, his soul seemed to swell, for he _did_ remember. The Dark in him, through him, engulfing-

He shook his head. "I will be fine." Part of him wondered if he should tell Sydney, give him some sort of warning... but it might just be that he was tense, on the edge of paranoia after the incident. Sydney would not have offered if it could have harmed him.

And the spell was not necessary, besides. Though his knees nearly buckled at the first few steps, once they had begun, Hardin's body did seem to be more capable of walking than he had feared. If his feet dragged a bit, if his pace was slow, it made little difference as long as he just kept walking. The simple act of putting one foot before the other was gradually becoming automatic again, if no less tiring, leaving him with little breath or energy for anything else.

Including conversation, which meant he had time to think, and there was nothing at all that he _wanted_ to think about at the moment. Including the fact he was capable of walking, for his continued reliance on a staff to so much as stand was both frustrating and frightening. Even after the withering of _months_ in prison, after his first such escape - admittedly without overuse of the Dark to complicate things - he had been able to keep moving on his own, even use his sword...

Though he had perhaps been no more in his right mind. The images were jumbled in his memory; mostly he recalled nonspecific glimpses of fleeing in the snow, until he'd made it back to his family home, where those who had anticipated his destination had paid for what they'd done. They'd come upon him in the graveyard, sitting before a gravestone he had feared he would find... and beyond his rage and grief, he next recalled the yard littered with fresh corpses - the bodies of the king's men lying haphazard among the stones, red blood spattered across the snow. Melting into it, trickling toward him, reaching out for him... dripping from his sword, running warm over his hands...

Hardin's head jerked up suddenly, and his hand half-raised. Though he could have sworn he _felt_ the blood upon his hands, it was clean, as expected. ...He was sure it had not gone quite that way to begin with, when he had killed the king's men. Blood on the snow, yes, but not... vast pools at his feet. He had not been soaked in it.

...He could have been, had he then possessed such power.

Hardin shook his head, just slightly to avoid attracting Sydney's attention, for here and now, Sydney was walking aside him, just slightly ahead. He was just... tired, he supposed, perhaps so much that he was not quite in his right mind, half-dreaming while awake. Which was not a terribly comforting thought, but it was a possible explanation.

But there had also been that strange, eerily similar turn to his thoughts the night before while he was bathing... but then, he admitted, he had been if anything more tired, less in his right mind. It was only strange that _that_ was what his thoughts drifted to.

Or maybe it wasn't strange at all, considering what he'd-

No. He reached up to rub at his head for a moment, despite that it was enough of a motion to make Sydney glance back at him momentarily. He was just tired. And that was why he was suddenly somewhat dizzier. Even so, he raised his head, and kept walking. He would not think about what it had been like, becoming one with the Dark. He did not want to remember. It had been terrible. And it had also been...

_No._

Though they had been walking for some time, it had been at a relatively slower pace than they usually set. If Hardin's feet were dragging a bit more as the sun rose to its peak - again, it was to be expected. It might have been wise to suggest they stop and rest... or perhaps not, for he wasn't sure he would be able to rise to his feet again.

And that would mean disappointing Sydney. Again. Though disappointing him was not so bad as... other things.

He couldn't imagine how it had happened. It had been only a dream... much the same as the dreams he had suffered since his first stay in prison, if more vivid. There was no reason, no excuse, that he should have lashed out as he did. Yet even thinking about it, trying to remember what he had been dreaming that had caused such a violent reaction, left him uneasy. In fact, no more thinking about it, he decided, for it made his breath quicken in anxiety - or was it? - and he had little enough breath as it was.

His legs ached, his head ached - and it didn't matter. He just had to keep walking. Rest would come when it was _necessary_. Not before. And if he was exhausted enough, he might not dream again.

In spite of Hardin's determination not to think about it - there was no reason, was there, if Sydney did not intend to speak of it? - it haunted at the edges of his thoughts anyhow, or something like it. The dream, or the memories that had shaped the dream. It might be there was little difference. He and Sydney walked along the edge of a wide road that stretched out as far as the eye could see ahead and behind, with no barrier more restrictive than overgrown brush, tall grasses, and the occasional tree on either side, a clear open sky ahead, yet there was the sense of being enclosed... trapped.

It was not real. He knew it was not real, he was _looking_ at the road and the trees and the sky, and himself and Sydney walking-

He was scrying again, and he had not intended it. Immediately he forced himself to stop, for he could see all the same sights of the open road with his own eyes - but all the same, his heart was pounding, he was suffocating. Yet not within stone...

He was so on edge that when something touched him, he instinctively flinched away... until he realized it was Sydney, having slowed to walk at his side, reaching out to take his hand. Sydney said nothing, did not so much as look at him, but only reached out further at the motion, lightly taking Hardin's hand in his own.

Hardin took a deep breath, and as they walked a road that was mostly still even, let himself close his eyes for a few paces. Of course Sydney would know.

The reassurance of Sydney's touch, however, did not entirely drive it away, but for the moment Hardin had been startled. Still he felt inexplicably trapped, and though his senses had been returning to normal, the feel of Sydney's hand in his felt strange. They had been together for years - he had come to view the sensation of cold metal against his skin as familiar, if occasionally uncomfortable. Yet now there was something unusual about it... having those sharp blades so close, resting against his own fingers.

He tried to fight through the panic that still nearly choked him, and consider this. It might be that his body had yet to remember what certain sensations were, that he was interpreting them differently. For ordinarily when he was so conscious of the danger of Sydney's hands touching him, it was with arousal, anticipation. And yes, there was a certain sense of anticipation, the urge to tighten his grip and let the edges dig in. 

His breath quickened as he let himself entertain the thought, but soon he recognized it was not for the usual reasons. He imagined the pain as the blades cut into him, slicing along the side of his hand and his wrist, red lines traced and welling up in their wake. Blood dripping, the stinging pain, sweet escape from this burden of flesh that had been inflicted upon him, freedom, blood, so much blood spilling over the old bricks of the road, no more pain, no more need to force himself to breathe-

Hardin drew in a deep breath, deliberately, at the realization of his thoughts, and quickly following another. Yet his lungs ached, it seemed to offer him nothing but a further sense of panic, of being trapped and smothered. His hand in Sydney's was forgotten, along with anything it suggested; his heart pounded in his chest and his throat, his stomach twisted, the sunlight glared in his eyes, all lending him more impetus for escape. He should escape, he _needed_ to escape - to break free from this prison that held him, that crushed him and smothered him and held him down, binding his spirit from true freedom - the freedom to go where he wished, do what he wished, leave all the pain and indignities and demands of mortality behind...

Rather than tightening around Sydney's fingers as he was tempted to do - as he _longed_ to do - Hardin abruptly let go, turning aside to the edge of the road before his stomach began to heave. Painfully, violently, though there was nothing within, yet his body _demanded_ to be emptied - as if it too wished to expel Hardin's very soul, the same that longed to escape it.

He'd fallen to his knees, and was dimly aware of footsteps behind him in the grass, but he simply held up his hand, silently telling Sydney to come no closer. He couldn't have withstood the touch of Sydney's hand now - and he was not sure which reason was worse, whether the thought of his touch making Hardin more aware of his own body, or the idea that he might make use of those hands to seek release from it... Possibly both, and his stomach heaved again.

But it was a useless effort; his body could not rid itself of the soul bound to it, and no matter how much the soul resented the body, Hardin reminded himself of that bond. Someday they would be parted... And why _not_ today? But no... he was needed yet. Or was he? Was he so very indispensable? Surely he would be more useful if he was not held back by the flesh, bound to all the failings of the physical, the things that could be done to it... If he would simply let go...

Hardin growled furiously, striking at the earth with his fist, and let himself _feel_ it. The manner in which the soil gave way, but only up to a point, the grittiness of it, the softness of the blades of grass. He recognized now where these whispers in his mind were coming from, or at least that they were not entirely him. It was terrifying for an entirely different reason, but he had returned from its grasp before. He was a man, a mortal, with his own will - and his own body, as torturous as it was to reside there at the moment. He would remain.

Which meant he must be present as his body's rebellion gradually slowed. He must kneel there in the grass until he caught his breath. Eventually he must rise again and take up the staff and continue to walk... but not immediately, nor even soon. When he had gathered himself enough to look around - only barely remembering that Sydney had asked him not to scrye if he could resist it, and now fully in agreement - Sydney was no longer close behind him, or even in sight. For a moment, it made the panic rise to his throat again, but Sydney had said he would not leave him behind. Even when he had asked, Sydney had refused. And if he had not been willing before this point, why would he now?

Sydney had not yet returned from wherever he'd gone by the time Hardin had calmed enough to seat himself more comfortably - and then on second thought, lie back upon the ground. Exhausted as he was, he dared not close his eyes, but stared up at the sky, the wisps of white cloud that casually made their way through the blue. _I_ am _free, damn you._

He was still lying there, contemplating the passing clouds and the breaths he drew for the lack of anything less troubling to his mind, when he heard footsteps in the distance. He was not terribly tempted to scrye, nor even to look up, for it could have been no one but Sydney, and that was borne out by the familiarity of the rhythm as they drew closer.

Through his own talents, Sydney apparently was aware of Hardin's recognition, and he paused while he was yet several paces away. "If my presence is still unwanted, I will busy myself elsewhere."

Sprawled in the grass as Hardin was, Sydney probably could not see him shake his head, but he did not need to. "...Suddenly I understand better all the times you have ordered me not to touch you in your distress."

He blinked as a portion of the sky went dark; Sydney stepping into his line of sight with an ironic smile. "And I understand better all the times you have been unable to refrain."

Hardin as well smiled faintly at the sentiment, and allowed himself to close his tired eyes. Sydney was there - he could not sink so deeply into the darker thoughts, nor would he be permitted to do anything harmful to his body or soul, with Sydney present.

"May I?" Sydney asked quietly, sitting down at his side.

Considering what he had been thinking the last time Sydney touched him, Hardin hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment, before nodding. His head was clearer now, and he knew what to look for. 

It was startling, yet turned quickly to relief - the chill of Sydney's palm against the heated skin of his face as Sydney carefully cupped his cheek with the faintest of caresses, then leaned down to kiss him lightly upon the forehead before stroking there as well.

Hardin could have remained like that for the rest of the day. Perhaps for the rest of his life... Not long ago, he would have been asking which would come first, he recalled. The contentment he found in Sydney's touch faded somewhat as he thought back to what had happened. "I don't know what..." That was partially untrue, and he corrected himself. "... _Exactly_ what that was about. I thought I was going mad..." He had listened to Sydney's warnings about the Dark from their earliest lessons, and all this time kept them in the back of his mind, easily retrieved at such times as this. He opened his eyes again to look up at Sydney. "...I am _not_ going mad, am I?"

The brief hesitation before Sydney replied, he thought, was worrisome. "I don't believe so," Sydney said. "You've been... hearing things, perhaps seeing things, yes?"

"Hearing... thinking... imagining." Under Sydney's soothing touch, Hardin wanted to close his eyes and rest further, but for the returning fear of what might come to his mind if he did not have such _real_ sights as the sky and the clouds and Sydney to ground himself.

"The Dark nearly took your soul for its own use," said Sydney, "and though you managed to free yourself, I would not have expected your soul to escape without it leaving its mark. Yet I do not believe the damage to be permanent." He smiled another ironic smile. "My own similar infractions have been minor in comparison, but seeing as I have made so many, and have yet to go mad... Unless you have only been too polite to inform me."

To be fair, there were times that Hardin had wondered. But those times did not come often, and usually resolved themselves once a vision Sydney could not share had come to pass, and suddenly his words or actions became understandable.

"I have no definite answer, for never before have I seen someone do what you have done," Sydney continued, "and the times I am aware of in our histories where someone has been taken by the Dark, they did not survive - whether because of the Dark's destruction of their flesh, or by the hands of those who witnessed their descent into chaos, and could not permit such a dangerous being to remain. I myself wondered if that was to be your fate... but the Lady had told me to trust in your strength, and indeed it was stronger than I had expected, for you were able to return."

"Only because you were able to guide me home," Hardin murmured.

"My guidance would have meant nothing had you been unable to break free," Sydney told him, and the firm tone of his voice was somewhat at odds with the words he spoke. "You have always doubted yourself, and I have told you time and time again - you are stronger than you think. Your strength was sufficient for you to pull back from the allure of the Dark, which is no easy task, and I believe it will be sufficient to _continue_ to resist the Dark's call while your soul heals. Just as with the damage done to your body, it will take time. Possibly longer than your body requires." Again Sydney caressed his cheek with that cool touch, and his voice lowered. "And all the while, I will continue to guide you."

Uncertain as Sydney was about the details, Hardin found Sydney's words more reassuring than he would have expected. On a whim, he reached up to take Sydney's hand in his own, folding his fingers lightly around Sydney's palm. His hand felt only... cold, and sharp. As usual. "Thank you."

Sydney acknowledged it only with a slight nod. "As for your body... how does it fare? Your heart is much calmer."

"My body as well," Hardin confirmed. "Though it feels as if they've both only worn themselves out."

"Neither your body or your heart is likely to be the root of the problem," Sydney observed, and removed his hand. "Though they've both been strained. Are you able to drink?"

"Possibly." Hardin was slightly puzzled, for Sydney appeared to be looking for something in his satchel, and not the relatively large and easy to spot waterskin. "I thought I'd had the last of the things you brought that would be of any use."

"You had." Nonetheless, Sydney had just produced one of the small bottles, identical to those that had held the potions he'd administered in the hours after their escape, and he shook it for a moment. "Try a bit of this - it may help to refresh you."

The bottle was warm when Hardin accepted it, and he frowned thoughtfully. "What manner of potion is this?" he asked as he sat up.

The hint of an amused smile was more in Sydney's eyes than his mouth. "Mint."

Not having expected the answer, Hardin wasn't sure he'd heard right at first. "...I see." He'd prepared mint tea for Sydney at times when he was similarly unwell, but he would not have expected Sydney to have brought any along on a mission. And then, it was still warm...

"I happened across a patch of it while I was allowing you your privacy," Sydney answered, though he had not asked. "I lacked any method of straining it, so be mindful of the bits of leaf and stem if you should find yourself able to drink deeply."

Like hell he had _happened across it_ , Hardin thought with vague amusement. He'd gone looking, and no doubt brewed it quickly in one of the emptied potion bottles over a flame born of his magic - but Hardin was not inclined to call him out on the lie. A small sip was sharper than he expected, feeling cold on the back of his throat in spite of the warmth, but it did feel soothing going down. And certainly it tasted better than many of the draughts the brethren brewed for more specific use. 

When he had waited a bit, with no ill effects forthcoming, he did drink deeper - and yes, it still felt strange, but less so than even the small amount of ordinary water he'd drunk that morning. Replacing the cork, he handed the bottle back to Sydney, who had simply remained sitting at his side, gazing off into the distance down the road. It might be a sign of what he was thinking, much the same as Hardin was thinking. "I believe I'm all right now," Hardin told him. "I've already cost us too much time."

Sydney shook his head, and made no move to get up. "We may rest a bit more. No time has yet been lost, for I used our pause to seek out further provisions."

Hardin was suspicious. Although he was not sure how much time had passed - he could not recall where the sun had been in the sky before, but it was still quite high - he doubted Sydney would have gone far. "...Other than mint?"

Sydney said nothing, nor even looked in his direction. That was enough evidence for Hardin that he'd guessed correctly, and he tried not to smile. For all that Sydney so often presented himself as cool and distant, pretending that he could not and did not consider Hardin more than one of his many followers, Hardin knew better.

He also genuinely felt better, in part because of Sydney's failed play at indifference, for it was endearing. Also in part possibly because of the tea - it _had_ left him feeling somewhat less weary - and he tried again. "We may _need_ more provisions," he pointed out, "should the tea prove itself to be helpful enough." He didn't think it terribly likely he'd feel like eating actual food anytime soon, but if Sydney was willing to stretch the truth somewhat, he could hardly fault Hardin for it.

The mildly admonitory look Sydney gave him said that Sydney knew exactly what he was doing. Even so, Sydney looked to his satchel to replace the empty bottle, and readjusted the strap. "True," he conceded. "If you are sure..."

Hardin met his eyes when he looked up, and spoke only honesty. "I want to be home, Sydney."

Sydney nodded, and his demeanor softened. "As do I. But I'd not rush you - you've been through much."

"And you haven't?" Hardin asked. "I would see _you_ comfortably home before myself."

He hadn't thought it through before speaking, that it might be too blunt, rather patronizing towards someone such as Sydney. Sydney looked away again, back down the road, and started to stand. "If anything is becoming... unpleasant... again, tell me. It will be a long walk regardless, so stopping for a time to mitigate it is of little consequence."

"Of course." Again Hardin appreciated the lack of specifics... though it was somewhat troubling that Sydney hadn't denied his observation, for that was as good as confirmation. 

He had already found the staff that had fallen at his side, and was starting to get up as well when Sydney offered his hand. It seemed much easier than it had that morning, either way, for his legs were still tired but more certain. Other parts of him were less certain, though. "Sydney..." he spoke up hesitantly, as Sydney let go of his hand and started to turn toward the road. 

At Hardin's address, of course Sydney turned back, and immediately Hardin felt too self-conscious to ask. It seemed so... weak, needy. And given what Sydney had told him that morning when he had _tried_ to send Sydney away, and the way Sydney had cared for him just now... why should he even need to ask?

But then, it was Sydney. Whether or not Hardin _needed_ to ask, he never truly need ask. "I have more tea if it seems to help, and more of the fresh herbs as well," Sydney said simply. "I've found it to be quite acceptable when cooled. But if you decide you would prefer it hot after we have continued on a ways - or if it appeals tomorrow, or some later day - I will brew more."

...Tomorrow, or some later day. Hardin smiled tiredly, understanding with perfect clarity that Sydney was indeed answering his unspoken plea. "That sounds good," he told Sydney, following behind as they returned to the road.

\-----

In spite of Hardin's determination - which was significant, to the point that Sydney often thought of it in less admirable terms - Sydney had no illusions that they would make it far. The simple truth of it was that neither of them possessed the strength to travel a full day, or even part of a day at the pace they would normally have kept. Hardin's difficulties were obvious, Sydney's somewhat less so; though his legs would not grow weary from exertion or the lack of sustenance, the parts of him that remained flesh were still quite susceptible to discomfort. With ample water at hand after their first stop, the slight dizziness and ache of dehydration had not been permitted to grow so severe, but after having nothing but a crust of dry bread for dinner and a cluster of raisins for breakfast, it was no wonder that such annoyances might return.

But in his own ways, Sydney was every bit as determined as Hardin. It did not always serve them well, particularly when their stubbornness left them at odds with each other, but on this day it was a benefit, for Sydney would be able to walk as long as Hardin was capable of doing likewise. Though his head ached in the sunlight and the gnaw of hunger left him feeling quite hollow, he knew it was of little consequence. His flesh was sustained by the Dark, by the gods' decree, and it would not fail after a few days with little in the way of ordinary nourishment. As for his legs, they would not falter unless he did, which was quite impossible.

It was still a relief when Sydney spotted a few recognizable markers - the remains of an old broken wagon, a great tree that had fallen - that told him they were approaching another place they and the brethren had paused often on the way home from their wanderings, and for good reason. There was an old well that had been dug for the convenience of travelers, near a moderate stand of trees that provided shade in summer, among them some that also provided fruit or nuts in autumn. Few travelers there were to take advantage of such amenities any longer, and the area was overgrown with plants that had not been tended nor pruned, but some of them were edible. Some even palatable.

By the time they drew near, the hint of anticipation in Hardin's heart told Sydney he likewise recognized where they were, yet he said nothing. He'd said very little as he walked, presumably because every time he had spoken, he was slightly out of breath. He probably would have continued all night, Sydney thought, or until he collapsed, but Sydney even had his own reasons to stop when they arrived. Hardin could not protest and try to drive himself to exhaustion if Sydney's reasoning was sound.

The sun had not quite set when Sydney spotted the well ahead, and gestured toward it as he glanced back to Hardin with a satisfied smile. "Just in time for dinner."

Hardin nodded slightly. "I had thought we might stop there, if we made it so far. You should eat well."

"And you?" Sydney inquired.

Hardin hesitated. "I might try something." 

Sydney supposed that was as much as he could have hoped for. As was the fact that Hardin had remained largely calm during the rest of the day's travel. Sydney had sensed faint tremors, the earliest precursors to the darkness that had plagued him, but then a firmness as if the door had been closed forcefully, as Hardin recognized and refuted it. As Sydney had hoped, it appeared that once Hardin had come to understand what was happening to him, it was easier to identify before he was overwhelmed.

What had been made clear to Hardin was mostly only confirmation for Sydney, for he had suspected. The Dark had indeed enjoyed what his soul had provided. It wanted more... it sought to lure Hardin's soul from his body once more, that it might work more destruction through him. His body was largely inconsequential to the Dark, and there was no guarantee that Sydney might be able to bring him back to it a second time, given how weak it already was, how loosened the bonds that tied it to Hardin's spirit.

But as Sydney knew well, Hardin was not inclined to give in easily, nor was he given to accepting an oddity without questioning it. He'd already recognized that the thoughts he had were unusual, and now he knew that they were not his own. At least not entirely - wounded and scarred as Hardin's soul had been since they'd met, Sydney was aware that Hardin was capable of some very dark thoughts and urges to begin with. The Dark needed only to improvise upon the themes he provided.

Hardin's will was strong, however, Sydney thought as he hesitated at the edge of the road, watching Hardin ease himself down to sit against the side of the well. His discernment was near perfect, able to pick out lies among truths - even at times when Sydney wished for Hardin's own sake that he wouldn't. And his soul had found something to live for in Sydney, misguided as Sydney himself believed that motivation to be. As long as he stayed with Hardin, kept watch over him, frequently reminded Hardin of his presence, he was sure Hardin would be able to resist. ...And then to add more certainty, long ago he had foreseen Hardin's death. This was not how it was supposed to come.

His own ponderings were interrupted by a sense of sudden wariness from Hardin as he leaned forward, apparently looking at something on the ground nearby. "...Sydney," he called, glancing up for a moment. "Someone has been here. Several someones, from the look of it. Recently, perhaps as recently as a day past... no more than two."

Sydney had not even thought to look for tracks, but now that the subject had been raised, he was not surprised. Concerned, but not surprised. "The Blades?"

"That was what I was thinking," Hardin agreed, his expression grim. "Heavy marks, sharp edges to the boots, indicating they wore armor. Knights for certain, and expecting battle. I could not say how many from here, in the fading light... without use of the Sight."

Sydney tried to think - where upon the road had he met Father Raffeyn's envoy as he was returning? - but that would have been well more than two days past. The odds of anything other than his initial guess were slim. "...I had wondered if they had such intentions, with both of us known to be elsewhere."

Hardin knew as well as he that there was only one reason to travel this highway. "We can't tarry, then. Much less stop for the night."

It did make Sydney less inclined to do so, regardless of how empty he felt or Hardin's weakened state. He could feel Hardin's dread at the thought of standing again so soon, though it was nothing compared to his dread of what might be unfolding at the entrance to Leá Monde. "Even so," Sydney told him. "When I told those with me to turn back, I instructed Kermiak to make ready to defend the tunnels. The brethren are not so strong without us as with us, no, but they are not helpless. They will have prepared for this possibility, and they have the gods and the Dark to protect them."

"But... we can't just..."

"The Blades have at least a day's advance on us," Sydney pointed out. "We cannot possibly catch up before they arrive - they may have already."

Hardin's fist struck the ground in frustration. "All the more reason we must-"

"Hardin!" 

Hardin stopped short, taken aback at the sharpness of Sydney's address. Sydney didn't mean to be harsh, but the panic was beginning to rise in Hardin's heart. As concerned as Sydney also was, he could not let Hardin's fear or his anger rise, lest he be overcome. "Hardin," he repeated, more softly, "the gods have given me no visions of our brethren in distress, no reason that I should make haste to protect their children. I must trust this means they have the situation well in hand - both the gods and our brethren."

Hardin turned his head away, glaring at the road that led to Leá Monde, then turned it back upon Sydney. Before he could speak, Sydney did instead. "Do you think I do not share your frustration, your concern?" he asked, stepping closer. "Do you think I would not go to them at once, if it were possible?"

"If you-"

"I will _not_ leave you," Sydney told him again, dropping to one knee to look Hardin in the eye. "This is not something you can negotiate."

Hardin had flinched back slightly at the sudden move, but the furrow of his brow showed his continued frustration. It didn't matter, for Sydney meant what he had said. He had meant it when Hardin had not quite been able to voice his plea earlier, and this discovery changed very little. "I intend to seek out food before it grows darker," he informed Hardin, and shrugged the satchel from his shoulder before rising again. "You are welcome to what is left in the waterskin, as it will be refilled shortly, or more of the tea if you don't mind it having cold. We shall consider our next move when I have returned."

Hardin turned his head away, from all appearances sullen, but Sydney could hear the whispers of his heart - helpless resignation. That was probably the best he could hope for at the moment, for neither of them were pleased about it, and Sydney's logic was inarguable. Hardin should go no further, Sydney must eat, and even if they thought to move on, they would not arrive in time to be of any use. Pragmatic as Hardin was, that trait occasionally disappeared in the face of a threat against someone he cared for.

...Which was how they had wound up here, Sydney thought with a faint sigh, heading off into the trees. He couldn't fault Hardin for it, for it had certainly saved both of them from further torment at the hands of the Crimson Blades. They might have been delayed much longer, and had to endure far more, had Hardin not attempted his summoning. Hardin's condition was, in part, because of him, and he owed Hardin... far more than he'd been able to express.

Sydney closed his eyes for a moment, then set about doing what he must before the darkness of night made it more difficult.

When he returned, it was with the edge of his cloak gathered up in his hand, as he lacked anything better in which to carry his small harvest. "The Blades must have brought rations enough, for the trees seem to be untouched," he remarked. "There were plenty of apples to be found, and the chestnuts are ripe as well. Often when we pass this way, it's been too early."

Hardin's fierce stare was still fixed on the ground, and he did not look up, though Sydney felt the flare of irritation. "Our brethren may be under attack at this very moment, and you're talking about-" The irritation subsided somewhat as Hardin stopped himself, taking a deep breath. "...Forgive me. I know there is little, if anything we can do. ...And my mind remains unwell," he muttered more quietly. "I keep imagining... what I would do. And... what I _could_ do, what I _did_ do..."

"It found your anger quite appetizing," Sydney agreed quietly. "Little wonder that it would ask for more. Yet the Dark has plenty to feed upon in this world," he stated, sitting down facing Hardin, opening the folds of his cloak to look over what he had brought. "At the moment, we have only these. I had thought to build a small fire, but it may be that having something akin to dinner will strengthen us, and we might go on."

Hardin sighed, closing his eyes wearily and shifting his feet in preparation to rise. "...I will gather firewood."

"You will not." If Hardin was so tired as to concede that they would travel no further, Sydney would not have him get up again for such a simple task.

"Sydney, please," Hardin argued, his anger flaring once more. "You have done everything for me these past two days. _Everything._ Just let me-"

"No." Sydney was firm. "That is as it should be - I have nearly my full strength about me, while you-"

"I am helpless, yes," Hardin snapped at him, his voice rising almost to a shout. "Weak and useless. They took my sword, I cannot use the Dark, or even scrye - nor even walk on my own! I can do _nothing_ without your assistance! Because of this body, this damned useless body that won't do a thing I ask of it! Do you think this pleases me, that I must rely entirely on you and can offer nothing in return?"

...Of course it didn't. Sydney knew, after what had become of him during their captivity, exactly how miserable it was to be utterly helpless. Quite possibly, he realized, he had been so adamant about caring for Hardin because...

"Drink something first," Sydney told him finally. "Unless you would prefer to wait for hot tea."

There was a hint of surprise in Hardin's grim expression, for he was mostly venting his frustration - he hadn't truly believed Sydney would give in. But after a moment, he nodded, looking to Sydney's satchel and locating one of the small bottles, shaking it and giving it a sniff to make sure he had the right one before downing it. "I won't be long," he muttered, setting it aside and reaching for the staff. "If we are to build only a small fire."

Sydney only nodded silently, and did not offer Hardin his hand this time. Hardin stood with only the assistance of the staff, and gave Sydney a last, somehat wary look over his shoulder as he made his way towards the trees.

Once Hardin was out of sight, Sydney let his head sink into his hands. The time he had spent without the Dark, leaving his limbs unresponsive, had been more terrifying than anything he could recall experiencing in his entire life. More than simply weak or immobile, he had felt as if he were trapped. Though he had always considered the enchanted mechanical parts as much himself as his flesh, when they had failed to move with his thoughts, it had felt as if his body no longer belonged to him. Even now that his power had been restored, that feeling of disconnect remained when he looked upon them, the knowledge that they could be made to simply... stop. Leaving him helpless in the same way once again.

Had Hardin not been there to look after him, to speak with him and distract him from his circumstances, to feed him with his own hands, to adjust his position so that looking down at his own body did not remind him of a child's doll tossed carelessly into a corner... Had he been at the dubious mercies of the Crimson Blades to attend to him, without even the possibility of the comfort of death to end his torment... Surely he would have lost his mind.

Was it any wonder he had wanted to repay Hardin by doing everything for him? ...Was it any wonder he had wanted to do everything himself, even as it did not relate to Hardin? And why should Hardin _not_ be so frustrated by it, being made to be as helpless as Sydney had been?

Though they had always responded to his thoughts and emotions in much the same way as limbs of flesh, now when Sydney found his fingers trembling, it was not only humiliating, but frightening. Irritably, he made himself lower his hands to his lap, turned the palms upward, curled the fingers of each into a fist, and slowly uncurled them again. Everything was fine, and under his continued control, they lifted the edge of his cloak to wipe his eyes.

By the time he heard Hardin's footsteps returning, slowly, accompanied by the additional quiet sound of staff against soil, Sydney had composed himself, and gathered some fallen leaves to serve as kindling. "Here, someone has used this spot for a fire recently," he guided Hardin. "There is no need to clear a new place."

Hardin's expression was still somber in the near-darkness of dusk, and he lowered himself carefully beside the place where Sydney knelt, releasing the assortment of sticks he'd carried under his free arm and setting the staff aside.

Sydney began to sort through them as Hardin did, and set a few apart as they began to build the fire, an automatic habitual task after the years they had spent together in otherwise solitary travel. "It occurred to me that we have no cookware," he said quietly. "If we are to cook anything, it must be done on a spit... which rules out the chestnuts, but it could be done to the apples. They would likely be easier on your digestion when cooked to softness, should you find them appealing at all."

Hardin breathed a faint sound, somewhere between relief and amusement. "I could not say if it was the tea or the exertion, but while I was wandering among the trees, I found at least something of my appetite had returned."

"Or," Sydney noted, "it might have been aided by the chance to prove to yourself that you are neither helpless nor useless." He kept his eyes down, on the piled wood between them. "...Forgive me, Hardin. It was never my intention to suggest such things."

Hardin paused, his hands stilling as well. "Nor mine to accuse you of doing so," he admitted, his voice gruff. "Thank you... for letting me do this much, at least."

Sydney only nodded slightly in return, and having finished the arrangement of the wood, he backed up somewhat, prompting Hardin to do likewise before Sydney spoke the words that would bring the fire. Once the flames were consuming the leaves, flickering up to catch the thinner twigs, Sydney reached for one of the sticks he had set apart, offering it to Hardin. "Perhaps you might also prefer to make your own dinner, to your liking?"

Hardin nodded, a small wry smile coming to his lips as he accepted it, cracking off the thin end and beginning to strip the rest of smaller twigs. "I can manage that."

Sydney had set the things he'd foraged a short distance away, beside his satchel where it leaned against the well, and he retrieved two of the small apples for Hardin before looking over the rest. Most of the apples could be tucked away for later, but he would leave a few out for himself, and the chestnuts... Well, his hands had certain practical advantages beyond the sacred symbolism they held, for he could remove the nuts from their burs barehanded. 

He supposed he would have to try to think of a way to peel away the husks, or how to roast or boil them without cookware, but he had not gathered enough of the chestnuts that the burs took long. After he'd found a place for the nuts in his satchel, he took up his own small dinner with the intention of eating by the fire with Hardin - and this was made all the more appealing when he'd come close enough to smell the sweet fragrance of the apples Hardin was already roasting. In the discord between himself and Hardin, and the unpleasant revelation about what their brethren might be facing, Sydney had forgotten entirely that he had been hungry.

The apples were fully warm, the skins sizzling as Sydney settled himself at Hardin's side. "I don't suppose you'd be inclined to share?"

"I'm not yet sure I will finish even one," Hardin admitted, drawing them back and setting the end of the stick in the ground to let them cool. "If so, I can make more."

"Seeing as I will want more than one," Sydney mused, reaching for another of the sticks he'd set aside, "we may as well begin."

Once he'd prepared the stick and speared his own apples, he considered handing it off to Hardin. If he wanted so badly to prove himself useful, he could do no harm to himself by holding a stick over a fire. But with the two of them alone on the road, eating foraged food, everything just seemed a bit more comfortable, more normal. Bearable. Instead, he shifted himself to sit just a little closer, and let himself lean against Hardin's shoulder. 

Hardin apparently considered it just as good a use for his arm to reach out, resting comfortably around Sydney's back, for there it remained until their dinner was ready to eat. In spite of their worries about their brethren and Sydney's own worries about Hardin, for a time they had peace. Improving Sydney's mood further, Hardin not only finished one of the first apples, but was so impatient to have another from the second batch that he nearly burned his fingers.

The contentment lasted only until after they'd eaten, however familiar and nostalgic it was for the two of them to be alone in such a setting. Sydney's mind continued to consider their situation as he stared absently into the flames, occasionally taking the slight detour into assessing Hardin's condition. Though he seemed as physically comfortable as Sydney after having eaten, which was a good sign, there was still an anxiousness about him, an air of indecision. Sydney did not need to examine it any further to know why, for his thoughts had gone in the same direction.

"I should set the ward," he said abruptly. "I do not foresee anyone coming this way, but it is not impossible under the circumstances. We would do better, I think, to take our rest beneath the cover of the trees."

Hardin almost interrupted, _would_ have interrupted, but for his own hesitation. "...I feel stronger, having eaten... We need not stop for the night."

"You will feel stronger still if you rest and let your body replenish itself, rather than immediately rushing to exhaustion again," Sydney pointed out. Sensing Hardin's imminent protest, he reminded him, "And even if I believed our brethren were in danger, we could not possibly arrive in time to be of any help."

"Yet we would arrive sooner," Hardin muttered, but it was with a sense of resignation. He had expected that response. But perhaps not the whole of it. "You truly believe they are not in danger?"

Sydney nodded. "The gods have given me neither prophecy of tragedy to come, or visions of tragedy unfolding," he reasoned. "Presumably if the Blades were to take the city, or even manage to slay several among us in the attempt, I would have been told."

There were a few nagging doubts, however, for the gods did not always tell him of everything that might be. And then, too, they were merciful; as Sydney was still wrestling with the aftermath of what had been done to himself and Hardin, it was possible they had decided he had enough worries already, and did not need more that he could do nothing about.

Yet he did not think that to be the case. "Your faith wavers - I understand," he told Hardin, whose solemn gaze was turned down, barely seeing the flames before them. "All that we have been subjected to in the last few days... the gods were with us, and they happened anyhow. But Hardin..." Sydney paused, trying to think of how to phrase it as he shifted to address Hardin more directly. The gods could not be described adequately in simple words, nor the insights he received from his communion with them. 

"To be mortal is... to be mortal," he said finally. "In this realm, man has been given the responsibility of free will. We have proven to be selfish creatures, willing to use that power to hurt and kill one another. We have frail bodies of flesh and bone, which suffer damage from illness and injury and age. We have minds that are not infallible, often confused or tricked into believing untruths. It is the same for all alike - each man and woman suffers the indignities of being mortal, yet each in his or her own way, because of the differing circumstances of our birth, or our choices, or the choices of those around us. You and I..." 

He didn't care to admit to it, but he must, even though Hardin was now looking up at him, meeting his eyes. "Both of us were subjected to some of the worst of those indignities - and we will both require time to recover. But we survived. The gods did not leave us in that place, nor did they permit those who inflicted such wounds to go unpunished. You should not have been able to complete that summoning," Sydney reminded him, "yet you found the strength. I should not have been able to return you to yourself after you were taken by the Dark, but somewhere I found the wisdom. The gods were with us... and in us, and through us. This is how they often do their work in our world, through our mortal selves - and in our brethren, they will do their work also."

Hardin's expression was still grave, but calm as he looked upon Sydney. It might be, Sydney thought, that the gods were doing their work through him at that moment, for he had not known what he was saying until he was saying it, but it seemed to have settled Hardin's heart. He smiled, not at all surprised, when Hardin's hand rose to touch his face, tracing along his temple and jaw, before Hardin leaned in to kiss him. 

The kiss remained chaste, for they were both physically exhausted, yet it was long and lingering... tasting of sweet apples, which Sydney found made it all the more appealing. When they parted, Sydney spoke again, softer. "I will go and set the ward."

This time Hardin only nodded, and got to his feet with only the assistance of the hand Sydney offered when he saw Hardin's intention in the way he shifted. "I will douse the fire," he said, and then paused, realizing the staff still lay beside where he had been seated. He smiled, if tiredly, and started off towards the well without further comment.


	3. Day Three

He was surrounded, enclosed in his own tomb. The only light was the flickering of flames somewhere nearby, dancing their illumination across the dingy stone, and there was a great weight upon him. Beneath him, pressing against him from every side. He couldn't breathe... and wouldn't it be so much more tolerable if that didn't matter? If he didn't need to breathe?

He needed to get out, whatever the cost, or he would perish. It was if he was drowning in stone, in flesh and blood, and though he could scarcely move, his desperation led him to scrye, to see if he might find a route to escape...

...And he was rising through the stone suddenly, through his earthly body, _something_ bearing him off into the sky with a laugh as he stared at the world below-

When his eyes opened, it took him several seconds to determine which direction was up, disoriented as he was. The branches above were sparse with leaves, and beyond them were the stars, much the same as he'd seen as he had been drawn away in the dream.

Yes, he told himself, it _was_ a dream. Even so, Hardin lifted his hand, felt the weight of it. Rested it upon his chest and at his throat, feeling the rhythm that _did_ still pulse beneath his fingers. He still lived, and he was still within his body, which also still lived.

He let out a deep breath, and again closed his eyes. Only briefly, for suddenly he realized he was also alone.

For a moment he nearly panicked, for he'd been close enough to panic already, and what he'd done the night before when Sydney had woken him from a very similar dream returned to his mind. But Sydney was not unconscious at his side, whether from sleep _or_ strangulation. Perhaps, Hardin thought, Sydney had sensed his distress and thought to put some distance between the two of them before Hardin woke this time. 

But that did not entirely seem like Sydney. In spite of the Dark's repetitive whispers, implying that he was useless, that Sydney would be better off without Hardin holding him back, Hardin recognized that Sydney had been watching over him carefully, trying to help in any way he could. Sydney had said he would not leave him, and neither was Sydney likely to leave Hardin to wake alone from such a dream.

...Hardin was not even sure it had been entirely a dream. The Dark would have liked to see him lured from his body, Sydney had said. What he had dreamed had seemed to be pushing him towards exactly that. The feeling of being crushed by his own flesh, the need to escape it - that was what he had felt only a few days ago, before he gave in and took the opportunity to flee. A dream this time, yes, but perhaps a means to an end.

A glance around the sky above, locating the moon and finding the position of the stars, told Hardin it was past midnight, but still some time before dawn. He was not inclined to go back to sleep even so, and in fact he was not so tired as he had expected, after having eaten and then fallen asleep relatively early.

Besides, he was also puzzled about where Sydney might have gone. Almost by instinct he began to reach out, then realized that the dream he had just woken from was more evidence that Sydney had been right to suggest that he not so much as scrye. Hardin frowned, and started to sit up. He had managed to find his way and find his fellows and his foes in the PeaceGuard well before his talent had manifested.

And in this case, he knew the one he sought well - his habits and odd inclinations. There was the question of why Sydney had left, whether it was a matter of distress or simple restlessness, but he would have remained within the area where he had set the ward, which was probably approximately the perimeter of the trees. Hardin was reminded forcibly of his body's lingering weakness when he started to get to his feet, and he considered the staff that lay nearby before deciding against it. He was not going far.

Indeed, he had not gone far at all before he spotted Sydney at the very edge of the trees, sitting and looking upon the hills beyond. Hardin paused, for he knew not what day it was. Sydney had a habit of retreating on the first day of the week, sometimes before dawn, to spend time with the gods in silent meditation and prayer. But then, at times when one or the other of them had been particularly troubled, Sydney would not send Hardin away as long as he remained silent. Seeing as Hardin didn't know if that was the case, and Sydney had not yet told him to leave, Hardin took a few slow, cautious steps further. 

The crunching of leaves beneath his feet surprised Hardin as much as it apparently surprised Sydney - because Sydney was _never_ surprised by his presence, but he turned his head with something very near to alarm. He must have been very deep in thought, to have not heard nor sensed Hardin's approach... and whatever had him so deep in thought must not have been good, for Hardin saw the silvery moonlight reflected from his cheeks.

Immediately Hardin's own heart sank, for he knew why Sydney had often cried in the night. Less so in recent years, for after so long seeing such terrible visions of what was to come, Sydney had become more bitter and morose than upset. But at times, his prophecies of apocalypse gave way for something more personal, more imminent, events he could not avert. As there was something possibly happening at that very moment that they were powerless to affect...

"Sydney..." Forgetting his legs' weariness, Hardin stepped forward more hurriedly. "What have you seen?"

"...Nothing." Sydney seemed to have been so startled as to be lost for words for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure, brushing at his eyes and turning to look out over the hills again with something close to his usual grace. "Fear not for our brethren, Hardin - I have seen nothing."

That was a relief, at least. ...Unless Sydney just wanted to protect him from the grief while he was still weakened... But Sydney would not lie to him. Not about something like that, knowing he would find out eventually, when they returned to Leá Monde...

Sydney shook his head. "I have been given no prophecy or vision upon this night," he said again, turning his head away almost imperceptibly as Hardin let himself carefully down at his side. "Only dreams. Ordinary dreams."

...An ordinary dream that could upset him more than his visions of the end of the world? Then again, given the nightmare that had disturbed Hardin's sleep, he supposed it was possible. Sydney had endured far worse treatment than he at the hands of the Blades.

Sydney had not rebuffed him thus far, and so Hardin rested a hand upon his shoulder. When that drew no rebuke, Hardin let that hand stroke over towards the center of Sydney's back, where he could rub the muscles that were so often tense. It proved to be the case now, and Hardin bowed his head, not looking to Sydney as his fingers caressed. "If you-"

"I do not."

Hardin nodded. He'd expected as much from Sydney. "And if you'd rather be alone...?"

He got no response, until finally he looked over to Sydney. Slowly, Sydney shook his head... but he seemed not to know what to say.

It was not the first time Sydney had not wanted to talk about what troubled him, yet had not asked Hardin to go. Hardin knew what that usually meant, and so the hand that caressed Sydney's back instead slipped around his shoulders, drawing him close. Sydney only leaned into it with a soft sigh, resting his head against Hardin's shoulder.

After some time spent in such a way, Sydney collected himself enough to speak of other matters. "...You seem much improved."

"Yes," Hardin agreed. "I expect that eating had something to do with it."

"Yet while your body is healing, the shadows still hover." Sydney reached a hand up by instinct, not needing to look to rest it against Hardin's cheek. "You have dreamed your own dreams."

"Yes," Hardin said again, more quietly. "Yet naught but dreams. Mine may not have been so terrible as yours throughout the years, but I've become accustomed to dreams."

"Not such dreams as these, certainly. Yet indeed, dreams are dreams, and we have awoken." Sydney sighed faintly, removing his hand and settling back to look at Hardin. Once more he was calm and serene as ever. "You also seem disinclined to return to sleep."

"Even without the dreams," Hardin agreed. Sydney also seemed mostly awake, and Hardin had an idea of where he might be leading with this line of questioning. "I could not say that I have recovered my strength, but perhaps some... and I have had more than enough sleep of late."

Sydney smiled one of his distant, enigmatic smiles. "It sounds as though you too think the night might be put to better use. Though I don't believe our brethren to be in imminent danger, and we could do nothing even if it were so..."

Hardin nodded. "Given how often we've traveled by night, I see no reason why we should not do so now. If need be, we can stop and take our rest again whenever we tire."

It only occurred to Hardin after he spoke that ordinarily Sydney would have had something else in mind if he suggested the night could be better spent. It was a bit odd that with this much time alone... But then, he had been weakened, and there were many things that might be troubling Sydney, and at present they were both of one mind: they wanted to be home, in their city, with their brethren's safety confirmed. 

Sydney's smile deepened, and perhaps he had heard something of the thought, for he leaned forward as he was rising, pressing his lips to Hardin's forehead fondly. "Would you have some early breakfast before we set out?" he asked, offering Hardin his hand. "Or I might brew more tea, as you'd finished the last of it."

"Apples can be eaten on the road," Hardin noted, rising with somewhat less assistance than he had the last time Sydney had offered. "Perhaps I will see if I can gather a few more, while you brew the tea."

"An excellent plan," Sydney agreed.

In the darkness, Hardin felt Sydney's hand linger a moment longer before his fingers slipped away. The sharpness was pronounced, inviting... and the peacefulness in Hardin's mind wavered, as he wondered for which reason.

\-----

Though the weariness Hardin felt had lessened somewhat by the time he and Sydney had set out again, he reluctantly had to take up the staff once more. He _could_ walk without it, yes, but only the relatively small amount of movement it took to gather more apples and walk back to where Sydney was waiting told him that his legs were still displeased at having been forced to walk so much on an empty stomach. What fuel he'd provided them last night was enough to keep him upright, and he intended to have more along the way, but for the time being, he ached. The more support he had, the better.

Even with Hardin's diminished strength, by the time the sky was lightening in the east, the two of them had made it to a junction with another seldom-traveled road that had once been a major highway, leading northwards. It was a relief for Hardin to recognize it, for sometimes the brethren took that road instead during their travels, and thus it was a well-known checkpoint; it meant that even with all their brethren with them, some of whom were not so strong or quick, they were less than a day's journey from Leá Monde. Perhaps not for himself and Sydney on this occasion, he had to admit - in good health, the two of them alone would have been able to reach the city from there in well under a day, but not with Hardin's need for a slower pace.

Which led him to try the suggestion again. "Sydney-"

"No."

So his preoccupation had been severe enough that Sydney had heard him. Yet this time, he felt it was not the Dark trying to sabotage him. "You would be able to move so much faster on your own than if you continue to hold back for my sake. I know this stretch of the road well - and you need not worry about rationing the food, seeing as I was able-"

"How many times must I tell you?" Sydney asked, stopping Hardin in his tracks as he whirled, eyes narrowed. "Though your health and strength are returning, I _will not_ leave you on your own. You are not helpless, no - and lest you think I imply otherwise, you have proven yourself to be far from useless - yet you are still vulnerable in a number of ways, and unfamiliar with the tricks played by the Dark."

...Hardin's reasoning was sound, but Sydney's may have been just as much so. And given the stern expression on Sydney's face, Hardin also understood that it was pointless to argue. Reluctantly and slightly sullen, he fell silent. Sydney had no need to be _angry_ with him for asking, particularly when he was willing to listen to Sydney's answer.

They had not gone much further before Hardin started to wonder if Sydney's apparent irritability was not entirely to do with his question. Hardin spotted him a few times turning his head just slightly, not quite _looking_ over his shoulder, but perhaps _sensing_ something back the way they had come.

He'd only just started watching closely enough to verify that something must have caught Sydney's attention, when Sydney broke their silence with a quiet request. "Hardin... I know I asked you not to scrye. Yet you seem to be well in control, and I would like to confirm something."

Hardin had already guessed. "We're being followed?"

"Perhaps... perhaps not." This time Sydney did turn his head, eyeing the road with suspicious interest. "More likely, it is someone going the same way."

Hardin almost asked who would be traveling this road when it led only to the ruins of Leá Monde, then realized that was precisely the question that Sydney wanted him to answer. It seemed odd that Sydney might know someone was there, yet not be able to sense whether they were friend, foe, or otherwise, but perhaps they were too far back. In any case, Hardin did as Sydney had asked, and reached out with his spirit.

The Dark did not seem to want to tell him where the unidentified person was, to his annoyance. One of those tricks Sydney had mentioned, perhaps... Well, Hardin had other ways to use his power, and so he simply traced back along their path, as if his spirit were walking the opposite direction of his body.

When he spotted the lone figure, still some ways back, he was momentarily relieved that it was not another squadron of Crimson Blades in pursuit. That relief vanished with a frown when he realized he _recognized_ that gait, and it explained why Sydney had not been able to identify the man. "...You already suspected Rosencrantz, did you not?"

"I did." Sydney sighed irritably, and Hardin was drawn out of his scrying when Sydney reached for his hand. "Come - the old market is not far ahead. If we make haste, we might take cover there while he passes us by."

Hardin looked at him, dubious. "You would have us hide from him? When it was you who sent him on the errand from which he now returns?"

Sydney met his eyes with a skeptical look. "Would you rather he accompany us for the remainder of our journey?"

Again Sydney was correct - the mere idea of Rosencrantz seeing him in such a state, weakened and out of sorts, made Hardin grit his teeth in annoyance. The two of them already found each other repugnant, consistent with a natural animosity between one whose life and soul were sworn and one to whom loyalty and honor were entirely foreign concepts. Sydney would not allow any true fight to break out between them, but Rosencrantz would certainly push his bounds, poke the wounds any chance he got. "Very well... we take cover then."

There had once been a marketplace at the side of the road, erected conveniently for travelers who had come either direction towards Leá Monde, or those who left it to follow either fork at the junction. After the city's collapse, when no one traveled that stretch of the road any longer, the merchants found other places to do their business, but ghosts of the old market lingered in the weathered, half-rotted wood of the tables and stalls, the barren dirt of the unpaved space, packed too firmly to yet have fully filled in with grass and weeds. Sydney and Hardin took care to tread only on the hard-packed dirt, rather than disturb what patches of weeds there were and leave traces of their passing that Rosencrantz might notice.

It was another relief for Hardin to let himself down behind one of the stalls that was mostly still intact, where he could sit for a time and let his legs rest. "Since you seem to have had no ill effects from the scrying," Sydney murmured, kneeling at his side, "keep watch for him, if you please."

Hardin nodded, and through the Sight, positioned himself at the roadside. "Though it has occurred to me," he whispered, "that this means Rosencrantz will reach Leá Monde before we do. The Blades are undoubtedly already present, perhaps already attacking."

"Yes."

Hardin waited for Sydney to elaborate. He did not. "...He has ingratiated himself with the cardinal's men," Hardin observed. "How do we know he will not aid them? He has been further within Leá Monde than they have ever managed to scout."

"You forget that I sent him to spend some time with Guildenstern's men specifically so that he would remain unaware of our designs on the Blades' new outpost." Though Hardin's attention was occupied elsewhere, he could hear the smugness in Sydney's voice. "He hasn't the slightest idea we are not within, with the brethren."

That seemed a fair assessment, unless... "...Unless the word spread quickly that Father Raffeyn had captured us. He did send word to Valnain."

Sydney paused, but Hardin did not feel him tense; he was only thinking. "The word would have had to spread faster than man can travel to have reached Rosencrantz before he must have set out. Although it may be possible, I think it unlikely. Besides, Rosencrantz pretends loyalty to everyone and _has_ loyalty to no one. I expect whether he knows we are present or not, he would be more inclined to stand back and see who is most likely to prevail before joining with any faction - and he knows very well that we have always been able to defend the tunnels against their sort."

That was also reasonable. Yet Hardin felt tense, even if Sydney did not. Even more when he spotted Rosencrantz in the distance - still some ways down the road, but within what would have been a normal man's visual range from where they crouched. "...Lend me your sword," Hardin muttered.

There was another long pause, and this time Sydney _did_ seem to tense. "You have no need for a sword, Hardin."

"If he should spot us here, you can use the Dark, if indirectly," Hardin reasoned. "I can do no such thing - yet I could still be of some use."

"If he should spot us here," Sydney asked him quietly, "why would I need to use the Dark? Why would you need a sword? You yourself asked why we should hide - Rosencrantz may not be our friend, but neither is he our enemy."

"Is he not?" Hardin muttered. "Would he not take the chance to murder me if he had the chance? He believes you're considering me as your successor - if he could destroy me in my weakness and make his demand of you, knowing the Dark cannot touch him, he would."

"Hardin, stop scrying."

"He's nearly here," Hardin whispered fiercely. "I would not have him come upon us unaware!"

"Stop scrying, and stop speaking aloud. _Now._ " The tone of Sydney's voice made it clear that it was an order, and though frustrated and anxious, Hardin obeyed.

That left him sitting behind the dubious cover of an old, battered wooden stall, unarmed and unable to defend himself. His heart was pounding, all he could hear were his own shallow breaths, and the footsteps approaching on the road nearby.

_Calm yourself, Hardin, and think. Rosencrantz may be a treacherous cur, but he is clever enough to know when to strike. Now is not the time he would choose._

Sydney's calm words inside his mind agitated Hardin all the more. It was difficult to think over the pounding in his ears, the footsteps growing ever louder. Hardin shifted to a crouch, readied himself-

And a hand took hold of his shoulder, sleek metal claws resting harmlessly but firmly upon the leather of his jacket. 

Hardin started, looked down at them, then back over his shoulder to see Sydney's grave, warning expression. All of a sudden he realized what had happened, and without thinking he opened his mouth, only to have Sydney raise a finger to his own. Rosencrantz was passing by; Hardin heard his footsteps pause, as if he was considering something, and he held his breath. After only a few seconds, though, the footsteps continued on their way, receding down the road.

Once they had faded into the distance, Hardin let himself fall back against the side of the stall, closing his eyes. He didn't know what he could say, but Sydney already knew.

"Did I not tell you the Dark plays its tricks?" Sydney was saying at his side. "This is why I dare not leave you alone."

Hardin nodded wearily. "Had you not been here..."

"You would have been unarmed, defenseless, rushing to attack a former Riskbreaker with his sword at his hip," Sydney stated with painfully precise detail. "In such a situation, you might have been convinced to use the Dark as a last resort, and quite possibly it would have taken you again, making use of your physical body as well as your soul. You would have been quite capable of destroying Rosencrantz in such a state, yes - but at the cost of your autonomy, of your very self."

"Gods..." Hardin's shame and his weariness seemed boundless. "How long will this go on? I can be of no use to you like this..."

Sydney gave no reply for so long that Hardin opened his eyes again, stricken by the thought that Sydney might agree. Instead of the awkward averted eyes he expected, Sydney was looking at him with an expression that Hardin could hardly recognize on his face. Neither the distant serenity or the frightening intensity, just... open. And almost grieving.

His words, however, when he spoke, held the intensity his expression lacked, almost an angry hiss. "Do you truly believe I am here with you now because of your power in the Dark? Do you think you have done _nothing_ for me all these years, other than fight at my side, for my cause? Even within the walls of that prison cell - was nearly sacrificing yourself to free us the _only_ help you were for me? John, I-"

His voice broke, but he didn't look away. Hardin did not dare, even when he saw the shimmer in Sydney's eyes. He remained, bearing witness. Perhaps that was a part of what Sydney meant.

"You... don't recall what I told you, do you?" Sydney asked. "When the Dark had your soul in its grasp... when I was trying to draw you back?"

Hardin wasn't sure, and he wasn't sure he wanted to try to think about it. What memories he had of the time during which he had been overcome were of sensations rather than words or even coherent thoughts. Terror and rage, becoming something so large, so powerful... Thinking that far back made him shudder; the thought that it could have happened again just moments ago made him stop short. No, he would not try to remember even if he could, or he might go mad in truth.

When the gaze was finally broken, it was by Sydney ducking his head for a moment to wipe at his eyes, almost in annoyance. "...Both of us suffered grievous injury to our souls in that place. Yet they were different wounds... I can try to heal yours, for I know your soul. But then..."

Again Hardin felt ashamed. "I would heal yours," he said honestly, "if I only knew how."

"You do," Sydney told him simply. "Without ever being instructed... you do." He looked back up to meet Hardin's eyes again. "And _that_ is as much a reason why I cannot leave you as any other."

Hardin only remained there, meeting his gaze, for a long time. He... _thought_ he understood now, at least in part. He still couldn't quite fathom how or why, but Sydney needed him now as desperately as he needed Sydney.

And when they rose from their concealment and continued on the way, Sydney would likely not speak of it again. In fact, he would grow cold and distant, overcompensating for letting himself show vulnerability. Hardin had seen it happen time and again. It was unnerving and frustrating at times, but Sydney was Sydney... and he had never forgotten that these moments too were Sydney.

Finally, Hardin nodded, just slightly. "...Whatever comes of this, we will be together," he agreed, his voice lowered. Reaching forth, he rested his hands atop Sydney's, where they lay folded in his lap, sliding his fingers beneath Sydney's to take them carefully in his own. "It may not solve everything... but it is something."

Sydney lowered his eyes then, looking down at their hands, and breathed a sigh that was almost a laugh, for Hardin caught the beginnings of a smile for some reason - and the reason didn't matter much to him. "Thank you," Sydney murmured. 

They remained like that a little longer, until Sydney drew his hands back, wiping at his eyes again before looking over his shoulder. "I think it has been long enough that we've given Rosencrantz a large lead," he observed. "He was moving more quickly than we have managed, besides. Or would you stay and rest here?"

"If we rested whenever I wanted to rest, we would never make it back," Hardin replied dryly. "I will go on whenever you are ready."

Sydney nodded. "I too... only want to be home. Give me a moment."

He'd opened his satchel, bringing forth the waterskin to take a drink, then offered it to Hardin, who supposed it was probably a wise idea. "A suggestion," Sydney added, sounding more like his usual self now that they were preparing to set out. "When we do return... you might want to keep some distance between yourself and Rosencrantz."

"Indeed." Hardin handed the skin back to Sydney, the thoughts that had been rushing through his mind in those moments returning to him. "...It seems the Dark would be pleased to see him dead."

"As would we all."

It was said with such nonchalance, Hardin couldn't believe he'd heard Sydney correctly at first. But then, with the sly rise of an eyebrow to confirm, Hardin found himself laughing, quiet and incredulous.

That too was Sydney.

\-----

There was a certain measure of relief that settled over Sydney after they had continued on from the old marketplace, for the road from there to Leá Monde was perhaps the most familiar stretch of road in all of Valendia for him. Though still some ways off, well beyond the sight of the city or even the sea that bordered it, he knew any number of places ahead where they might stop to rest, or to forage for something more than apples and chestnuts - and in fact, he had an idea now of what he might do about the latter when they'd gone on a bit further. Certainly there were still matters weighing on his mind, but the logistics of the rest of the journey home were well in hand, and the remainder of it seemed not so insurmountable.

Unlike Hardin's predicament, for which Sydney was at a loss. His body was recovering, yes - but this behavior of the Dark, leaping forth to encourage and exacerbate Hardin's fears and anger and even his distaste for Rosencrantz, was unsettling, particularly as it was not _entirely_ the Dark's influence. It could be that it would only take time... or it could be that Hardin might never safely touch the Dark again.

If that were to happen... Walking slightly ahead of Hardin, who still leaned somewhat upon the staff, lost in his own worries, Sydney could close his eyes for a moment and try to draw his thoughts together. Hardin had a steadfast, devoted heart. He was a talented swordsman and a clever strategist. He had never intended to touch the Dark when he had come to them; though he had been making his way through the lowest moments of a ruined life, he had not sought power, but rather stumbled into it by accident. If he could no longer make use of the Dark, he would still be of use to the brethren of Müllenkamp. 

Hardin was not like Sydney himself... steeped in the Dark. Helpless without it.

Sydney's thoughts were not only unpleasant, but circular, and he had been trying not to think about it, but Hardin's despairing words had brought it all to the fore.

The familiar road provided another measure of relief before Sydney had sunk too far into his own despair, when he spotted ahead a landmark for which he had been watching. At their slow pace, he hadn't been sure how long it might take, but he'd known it was not far. The closer they drew to what had once been a thriving city, the more signs there were of the lives that had been lived there, and the trade and travel that had come and gone. Walls to either side of the road that had been manned to serve as checkpoints, empty and abandoned inns, fields that once had been farmland with the accompanying barns and houses. Many of the structures nearest to the city had been damaged by the great quake, and all had been emptied of anything remotely valuable in the decades since, but Sydney was not seeking out anything that would have been of interest to looters and thieves.

The sky was overcast, so it was difficult to tell precisely how long they might have been walking - but considering that they had set out before dawn, with only the brief pause to let Rosencrantz pass them by and a few moments to eat (and allow Hardin to be off his feet), Sydney was sure already that Hardin would not object when he gestured at the farmstead set back from the road ahead of them. "That seems like an appropriate place to rest for a time, does it not?"

Hardin's head had been lowered in his fatigue, but he lifted it to look. "As appropriate as any," he agreed. _Though I'd be glad to sit right here in the middle of the road and be done with it,_ his heart added, too tired to guard itself. Just as well that they had made it so far, then, for Sydney had something more than rest in mind. For the moment, though, _Hardin_ could rest.

Once they'd made their way back through the fields towards what was left of the building that had once housed the farmhands, and Hardin was settled down reasonably comfortably beside where a door hung by one rusted hinge, Sydney took advantage of his own legs' endless stamina to search through it, and then the owner's home nearby. Likely other vagabonds had had the same idea in years prior, he discovered, for the kitchens were emptied of what he sought. They had other options than the obvious, however, and Sydney started for the barn, only to happen across something that would serve his purpose along the way.

When he returned to Hardin, it was with a satisfied smile upon his lips and a clay pot in one hand. "I can't be certain of the time," he called to Hardin, who looked up at his approach, "but I for one am ready for a meal - and something other than apples."

So was Hardin, from the sudden interest Sydney sensed from him. "What did you have in mind?"

"Now that I've found a way to hold them over a fire," Sydney suggested, "we might do something with last night's chestnuts."

The look in Hardin's eye was definitely approving. "Should I find firewood again?"

"We haven't any need," Sydney replied. "Though the roof is no longer intact, the cookstove inside is - and so is the woodpile." Though surely Hardin would have been pleased to have something useful to do once again, Sydney could sense his relief that it wasn't necessary.

Inside the farmhands' quarters, the partial collapse of the roof had left the furniture exposed, the bedding mildewed or chewed by nesting rodents, so there would be no additional comfort to be found within while they prepared the meal. Sydney went to the nearby well to wash out the pot and rinse and score the chestnuts, leaving it to Hardin to tend and stoke the fire once he had lit it quickly with a spell, and he returned to find the fire already burning appropriately high. Close by the stove sat Hardin, leaning against the wall with eyes closed and a faint smile as he simply enjoyed the warmth, the rest, and presumably the prospect of dinner. 

Sydney paused there for a moment in the dilapidated frame of the door, just watching him in a moment of relative contentment. After even the entirety of the last four years together, his thoughts upon the road had caused him to see Hardin in a new light once again, and that light had shed itself on words spoken to him in days long past. He was beginning to think that perhaps now he understood the... not _prophecy_ , exactly, but the riddles the Lady had spoken in those early days after he had first met Hardin. When he had seen what was to become of Hardin in the end, and tried and failed to drive him away.

He could think upon it only for an instant, though, for Hardin had heard his footfalls and opened his eyes a bit. "I believe the fire burns hot enough," he told Sydney, sounding somewhat tired. "It's been some time since I've roasted chestnuts."

So he had done this before. Hardin had been born some distance from Sydney's childhood home, but some of the customs might have been the same throughout Valendia. "For Yule?" he asked, setting the pot atop the stove.

Hardin nodded, closing his eyes again. "I tried to keep some of the traditions alive for Philip after our parents were gone, though as the years passed, we did not have much... Chestnuts were a simple enough thing to acquire."

He fell silent then, and neither could Sydney speak. Had Hardin's eyes not been closed - and with the near-assurance that he was not scrying - Sydney might have excused himself to refill the waterskin or some other small task, for he felt the tears gathering in his eyes again. 

He knew Hardin was no pure, unspoiled innocent. Honorable in his own ways, but Hardin could not be said to be a _good_ man. And well it was, for given the life Sydney lived, he had little use for a "good" man; it was most often Hardin who washed his hands with the blood and chaos Sydney's cause required, and willingly so. But he could have been a good man. He _should_ have been. What had caused his soul to become stained had happened well before he and Sydney had ever met, Sydney could not bear the blame for it, and yet...

A part of Sydney wanted to just leave. To never again direct Hardin in the dirtying of a soul that should have been clean, a conscience that should have been clear. Instead, he sat down at Hardin's side, closing his own eyes; if Hardin thought to look in his direction, he would likely assume only the same weariness.

That stone of Father Raffeyn's had drained more than merely the Dark from Sydney. Even Hardin, so fascinated and drawn to Sydney almost from the beginning, had initially recoiled when he first learned the truth about Sydney's limbs - that arms and legs were both entirely artificial, fashioned of metal and moved by magic. It was not the first time that Sydney had been startled and wounded by such a reaction, yet they were the only arms and legs he could ever recall having, and he considered them much the same as his flesh. Not so many others, aside from those who considered him not quite human to begin with, accepted it so readily as he. Even to Hardin, they had briefly been thought an abomination.

And they were _not_ the same as arms and legs of flesh and blood and bone, and now he understood that revulsion. During that time he'd been bereft of the Dark, they had been nothing. Dead. Mere metal attachments, made with the semblance of a man in mind, but useless for any purpose but to make him appear as if he were whole. Which, without the Dark, he was unmistakably not.

Without the Dark, Hardin could continue to function in an ordinary capacity. His talents and his skills with the magic were valuable, and certainly Sydney would regret the loss if it were permanent, but Hardin did not need them to survive, nor to be of help to Müllenkamp. Sydney, by contrast, was utterly helpless without the Dark.

But during that time, Hardin had been his hands. Had there been anywhere for them to go, Hardin would have been his feet. Like his limbs, Hardin had been provided for him by the gods... but Hardin did not require the Dark. Without the Dark, Sydney had only been able to live because of Hardin.

...And someday, he would be without Hardin, just as he had been without the Dark. He found the thought was nearly as unbearable. Perhaps not even _nearly_.

He'd drawn up his knees, leaning forward on them to rest his head in his arms, when Hardin's drowsy but still contented sigh roused him from his thoughts. "...Smells like they're close to ready," he murmured, and Sydney felt him shifting to get up. "Go ahead and rest, you've done enough - I will check."

At least Hardin only seemed to think he was tired. Sydney supposed he could be glad for that small mercy... for parts of what troubled him, he could not discuss with Hardin. The rest, he did not have the nerve to.

With Hardin's attention otherwise occupied, Sydney took a moment to wipe at his eyes with the edge of his cloak again before raising his head, instead resting his chin upon his arms to watch as Hardin carefully jostled the clay pot and looked about for something he could use to remove it from the heat without burning himself. It was unnecessary, Sydney realized, and started to stand also. "Here, let me," he told Hardin; despite his newfound wariness of his limbs, there were advantages to not having hands of flesh.

Hardin stood back with a nod. "Ah, of course. ...I was wondering if we'd gone to the trouble of roasting them only to watch them burn," he remarked with a wry smile as Sydney simply picked up the pot and set it aside. "A waste of good chestnuts."

"Quite." Sydney didn't know what to say - Hardin's relaxed mood was rather at odds with his own dark thoughts. Except... "...I'm relieved to see your appetite has returned."

"As am I." Hardin leaned back against the wall with another faint sigh. "And my legs as well. I suppose it will be another day or more of eating real food before they consider me an acceptable burden." _At such a time, I almost envy him his legs. ...I shouldn't say so, after what happened..._

Indeed, the drowsy thought made Sydney nearly wince... though at least Hardin had the sense not to say it aloud, and the pain was short-lived. Sydney only looked down at the roasted chestnuts in the pot, their shells bursting open from the heat, then back up at the sky, visible through the damaged roof. It might have been later than he had thought, unless a storm was coming, for it seemed to have grown darker already than when they had arrived. "Considering when we set out, perhaps we might sleep here for a time. If we rest well, and your legs do appreciate another meal or two, we should be able to make it back to Leá Monde within the next day's travel."

"Whenever that travel may take place," Hardin observed, his eyes closed again. "...You may be right. I find myself drifting off, even standing as I am now." His lips turned up in a small smile. "I admit, though, I had a look at the beds, and I would not recommend sleeping on them nor making use of any of the bedding. Better to spend another night on the ground than to return to Leá Monde with lice."

"I looked them over earlier, and I agree." Though the thought of sleeping in a bed, returning to Leá Monde... these things intersected in an odd way with what Sydney had been thinking about, and something he'd been wondering over the past few days. He had not asked, for he could not imagine how he could bring up the subject without it seeming as if he were trying to suggest something for which he suspected Hardin was not ready... and of which he himself had become wary.

Instead, he pondered it as the two of them remained in silence, Sydney removing his cloak and draping it over the remains of a well-weathered wooden chair while they waited for their dinner to cool enough for Hardin's hands to touch. Finally they settled themselves on the floor again with the pot before them, peeling the warm chestnuts and discarding the husks as they ate. Sydney found them to be a delicious change of pace from the dry rations he'd packed days before and the apples they had been partaking of for the last day, but at his side, Hardin found them absolutely _blissful_. Now that his appetite had truly returned, his body craved nourishment, and the tender nutmeats were seasoned with nostalgia, the memory of his young brother. To Sydney, it made his own ponderings all the more bittersweet.

Finally, when they had finished and it was time to consider where they were to spend the night besides the uninhabitable beds, Sydney dared to raise the subject. "Hardin... I would ask you a question - bearing in mind that it is only a question, not a suggestion."

Hardin gave him a curious glance. "Of course."

Then how to phrase it, Sydney wondered? His left hand rested before him, the bladed fingers curling and uncurling idly upon his knee. "...Have you ever wondered... when we are together, and I cut you... if such desires are my own, or if they might be born of the Dark?"

Hardin's brow furrowed as if he were surprised by the question, but his answer came almost immediately. "Yes. Many a time."

Sydney was not expecting that answer. "You have," he repeated.

"It seemed possible, given what I knew of the Dark. Or I thought that it might only have been that as Keeper of the Dark, you are capable of filling such a role in part because you are attuned to its desires, and your own are similar."

So he truly _had_ considered it, if he had recognized such parallels. "...And it did not trouble you?"

Hardin shook his head, and looked up to meet Sydney's eyes. "Whether it is your own or the Dark working through you, to have such desires indulged gives you pleasure. It matters little to me why, so long as _you_ are satisfied." 

It was so... simple, when Hardin put it in such a way. He had a tendency to worry and overthink every bit as much as Sydney did, yet his pragmatic nature led him to seek out the heart of his questions, break it down to the barest elements to find the parts of the answers that most mattered. Sydney himself received pleasure from it, and that was enough for Hardin.

And even if Sydney had been unable to sense the murmurs of Hardin's heart, it was clear from the hazy look in his eye that although Sydney had not _intended_ his question as a suggestion, Hardin's body had interpreted it as one, and his mind was well aware. "And besides... though I admit I have little experience," Hardin added, his voice lowering, "I cannot imagine anything or anyone giving _me_ greater pleasure."

Speaking of such subjects with one another was always dangerous. More so when they were far from any other living soul, considering whether they might take their rest. Still more so when Sydney had already been thinking along such lines as... what Hardin was to him, why Hardin was needed, why Hardin was there with him. As for Hardin's thoughts, Sydney knew already what he was to Hardin - and even had Hardin felt he had not yet recovered enough of his strength, he knew Hardin would care little. Though Sydney felt the answering twitch of his own arousal in response to Hardin's, it might be better to hold back until he was more certain...

Then again, Hardin's uncomplicated answer to Sydney's last uncertain question was quite reasonable. Perhaps such simplicity was the answer this time as well. 

The pot in which they had roasted the chestnuts was still between the two of them where they sat against the wall, and Sydney took a moment to carefully set it aside. From the corner of his eye, he found that Hardin was likewise giving him a sidelong look, equally wary and intrigued, as he nudged the pot a bit further out of harm's way - and then all but _tackled_ Hardin.

Though Hardin had neither initiated or entirely expected such a forceful response to his words, he was no less enthusiastic, his hands clutching at and caressing Sydney's hips, sliding down into the back of his leather leggings as he moaned against Sydney's lips and teeth. Their legs entangled in haphazard fashion, and then Sydney found himself on his back with Hardin atop him, kissing hungrily a moment longer before Hardin backed away to rid himself of his jacket and his shirt. Already bare to the waist, Sydney took advantage of the brief separation to untie the lacing at the front of his leggings, to draw up the knee Hardin wasn't straddling to tug one boot off.

In spite of the continued interruptions as they were unable to keep their impatient hands and mouths off one another, they managed to undress with relative quickness, until Sydney found himself rolling the two of them over again so he was kneeling over Hardin. Hardin's breath was already coming fast and heavy, and it caught as Sydney placed his palm flat upon his chest, the sharp points of his claws only barely touching the skin, not yet so much as pricking...

"Sydney, wait."

Sydney halted at once at the unexpected admonishment, even so breathlessly delivered as it was. Hardin's heart was bursting with anticipation, his body ached with need, Sydney's own hunger for their unconventional release was near to unbearable - but there was something within Hardin that was troubled. Sydney would indeed wait, and he shifted the weight to his other hand as he pushed himself to sit back on his heels.

"Take this not as though I were doubting you," Hardin muttered between heavy breaths. "It is myself that I doubt... my own ability to resist the Dark. These past few days I have found myself imagining the touch of your hands... your fingers drawing my blood..." Hardin closed his eyes, tilting his head back and swallowing hard. "...Yet not for this purpose. Only for the drawing of blood... eventually leading to the ending of my life."

Sydney was aware that Hardin's thoughts had been taking such dark turns - dark even for Hardin, who was often fairly morose. He had not been entirely sure in fact whether it was the Dark making suggestions, or if what they had been through had driven Hardin himself that much closer to considering death as an escape.

"I know that you would never go so far of your own accord," Hardin continued. "But I fear that if we begin, I might be tempted to be careless... to push against your touch, to drive it deeper..." A shudder ran through his body, and it might have been either pleasure or fear.

Of course Sydney would never have let it go so far; he had excellent control, and he had his magic to heal any wounds Hardin might acquire before he had bled too much. But Hardin was as anxious as he was desperate, and the scenario he suggested, of _trying_ to go further than they should because of the Dark's designs or his own despair, was a plausible one. "I will stop now if you wish it," Sydney assured him, drawing back his hand. But given how strong Hardin's desire remained despite his concerns, there were other options. "...Or we might continue, but only with more... ordinary ways of pleasing one another," he suggested, leaning forward again to rest his head upon Hardin's shoulder, turning his face upwards to kiss along Hardin's jawline and down his neck. 

The way Hardin gasped, drawing his knees up on either side of Sydney's waist as Sydney's mouth continued working its way down to his chest, would have been enough affirmation even without Sydney's ability to hear what his heart had to say about it - which was largely unintelligible.

The pleasure they shared had not always been through such unusual methods, particularly at the start. With Hardin's initial inexperience, even the most typical avenues of lovemaking between men had seemed exciting and exotic. His amazement and delight had been contagious, driving Sydney's own enjoyment of such routine acts to greater heights as he taught Hardin what to do, and explored what best pleased Hardin. It was never that traditional intimacy had ceased to be enough, but more that when Hardin had offered his flesh for Sydney's use, in whatever way he desired to vent his rage, they both had found the exchange to be far more intriguing than either had expected.

If Hardin's strange circumstances lingered, they might never please each other in such a way again. But if it were so, perhaps they would not suffer for it - for such simple things as the touch of Sydney's mouth, or feeling the heat of his arousal moving deep within, were still enough to make Hardin cry out, to make his body writhe beneath Sydney's. And afterwards, when Hardin's tight warmth and the rhythm of their hips had drawn forth as much pleasure as Sydney's own body was capable of, there was the peaceful familiarity. The two of them lying together, arms carelessly draped, breathing gradually returning to normal, lazy kisses wherever their mouths might reach. For now at least it was enough for Sydney, and in the drowsy mumblings of Hardin's heart, he heard much the same.

It was indeed getting darker, Sydney observed in the aftermath, by this time surely due to the hour as well as the occasional gust of wind and raindrops that made their way into the ruined building where the two of them lay. The fire was still burning well in the stove, however, and at last Sydney reluctantly extracted himself from their embrace to rise and put the pot back on the stovetop, emptying a portion of what was left in the waterskin into it. The evening was likely to bring a chill, but at least they might have warm water with which to wash before dressing again.

Hardin had pushed himself to sit up when Sydney turned back, and he pressed his hand against his head as if he were dizzy - but Sydney couldn't be too concerned, given that he felt a bit dazed himself. A crooked but contented smile still lingered when Hardin looked up to him. "It is you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It is you," Hardin repeated. "Not the Dark making its own desires known. I know that compared to you, I know very little of the Dark," he explained, as Sydney knelt again at his side, "but from what it has shown me of itself in the last few days, I can't imagine that it would have been willing to turn aside and find a different path only because I asked. It would not have let us take pleasure in each other, were it the Dark making use of your body for its needs."

Sydney paused, considering. Once again, he had to admit that Hardin's reasoning made a great deal of sense - and once again it was comforting. He leaned in, pressing a light kiss against Hardin's mouth. "Did I not tell you," he asked, resting his arm around Hardin's waist, "that I had far more use for you than merely your power in the Dark?"

"As always," Hardin murmured. "Whatever I can offer is yours."

Sydney knew this well, and at times it troubled him, for surely he had taken advantage of this over the years. Hardin had given him so much, and he could not know that Sydney was inevitably going to lead him to his own destruction.

But not this evening. Neither the destruction, nor asking anything more of Hardin. All that Sydney intended to accept from Hardin for the rest of the evening was the firm strength of his arms, the warmth of his skin, the soothing familiarity of Hardin's soul close at hand when the two of them eventually would drift off to sleep.


	4. Day Four

Sleeping on the floor near to the cookstove that night seemed to be the most comfortable option. The roof was still partially intact overhead to keep out most of the rain, while the walls offered some protection from the wind as it picked up, bringing with it a sudden chill. Such weather was not unusual for the autumn, and it was not the worst conditions the two of them had slept in by far, but the additional heat of the stove was a welcome luxury. 

In fact, Hardin found himself disoriented when he woke, for some things seemed much as they should be. The warmth, the crackling of a fire close by, Sydney's head resting upon his chest, one metal arm warmed by his own body's heat draped lazily over him, and a leg twining between his own as well beneath the covers - these were familiar and expected. The fact that they were lying on a hard wooden floor, however, covered by only Sydney's cloak, and that he could see a smattering of stars between the clouds through holes in the ceiling... It was neither their usual sleeping arrangements within Leá Monde or the usual sleeping arrangements while they were traveling the roads, but had elements of both, and it momentarily left him confused.

When he had woken enough to remember where they were, why and how they had come there, another unexpected aspect of his sleep occurred to him, and this time it was a more pleasant revelation - his sleep had been restful and dreamless. Sydney too seemed to be in deep, peaceful slumber. Perhaps they had worn themselves out too much to dream, between the walking and... other activities. 

Hardin smiled, rested a hand lightly upon Sydney's back. He'd needed that more than he had known. It might not have gone well even a day earlier, considering how confused his body had been about even such basic functions as eating and drinking and walking. By that same token, it could have been merely the gradual recovery of his physical body that caused him to feel so much more like himself. It _could_ have been, but he suspected it had more to do with Sydney. Speaking openly to him - a high priest with all the wisdom the gods had seen fit to give a man, asking questions of _him_ , listening to him and considering his words. And then sweeping him away, overwhelming him, in the most... intoxicating way. It was difficult to be troubled by dark thoughts or suggestions when drowning himself in Sydney.

Whatever the explanation, Hardin felt stronger in soul and... possibly his body did not appreciate so much exertion as of yet, he conceded, for he ached now in different places than the days preceding. But it had done what he had asked of it, and in spite of the mild discomfort, likely it would continue to do so when Sydney woke. Until that time, Hardin would stay where he was, and let Sydney sleep.

Though considering how vastly improved he felt... He frowned up at the broken roof in thought. He had promised Sydney he would not use magic until Sydney told him it was safe, but Sydney had only _suggested_ that he try not to scrye. Only the day before, that had proven to be good advice. So was the restlessness Hardin felt his own impatience to return to his normal habits, or was the Dark trying to coerce him into giving it an opening?

Then again, he reasoned, he could do nothing dangerous or overly foolish as long as he lay there with Sydney half atop him. Hardin decided he dared.

Outside the remnants of the farmhands' housing, the grass and earth were wet and the branches of the nearby trees swayed deeply in gusts of wind. Presumably a cold wind, judging from the traces that managed to reach where he and Sydney lay, but his spirit could not feel it. Neither did he feel troubled by this relatively minor brush with the Dark, and so he let himself wander about in the darkness, exploring the area he had been too tired to examine the night before, making sure that all was as it should be. Sydney had not set a ward, after all, and he knew there must be enemies about - though certainly the Blades would have had no reason to seek them out inside a farmstead that had fallen into disrepair in decades past. Unless the fire gave them away... Out of curiosity, Hardin scryed from a further distance and looked back. No, the glow of the fire was only barely visible to him halfway to the road, and only if he looked at where he knew it must be. And that was with his spiritual Sight, sharper than ordinary human vision.

As he looked about again, wondering how late or how early it might be, that sharper Sight noticed something out of place. Something moving, far off in the distance, much further than he could have spotted at night ordinarily. But since he had seen it, he scryed further still, moving closer to it.

...A man with the Crimson Blades' emblem upon his cloak, unencumbered by armor or weapon save a shortsword at his waist. He did not walk, but trotted at a brisk pace, one obviously meant for distance rather than haste. Coming _from_ the direction of Leá Monde.

The implication was obvious, and Hardin debated for a moment about what he might do. The need for certainty was greater than his reluctance to disturb Sydney's sleep, or even possibly anger him by admitting to scrying, and so the hand on Sydney's back stirred, caressing more than jostling. "Sydney..."

Sydney hummed faintly, as if he were disappointed by having to wake. But somewhere between the quiet sound and turning his head somewhat, he seemed to recognize that he was being woken for a reason, and his voice was instantly more alert. "What is it...?"

"...Forgive me," Hardin began, "I dared to scrye without your permission. But there is a runner on the road - one of the Blades."

Sydney paused, almost freezing, before he caught the sense of Hardin's heart, what _he_ felt about this discovery. "But not in pursuit."

"A courier, I would think. Likely bringing news of the battle." Hardin was not sure what he might be seeing on the man's face, whether disappointment or determination - that was something Sydney might more readily discern.

Of course Sydney understood the suggestion at once, and he fell still and silent, reaching out in a similar way as Hardin had, but seeking something different. "...As I might have expected," he murmured after a moment. "Kermiak appears to have directed our brethren well in our absence. I'm sure if there were any losses among our men, this one would be unlikely to know, as he is a mere courier - but what I gather from his heart indicates a rout. Few knights remained at the time he set out, and they had the intention of retreating and making their way back to their fellows."

Hardin could hear the satisfaction in Sydney's voice, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "So he brings good news... to us." Sydney nodded against his chest with an exhalation that sounded close to a chuckle, but Hardin had one other question. "But what of his report? Should we allow him to return?" Hardin was still not strong enough to run for long - but as the pace the man set was slow enough to be taken all day, he _might_ have had enough strength to briefly run faster to intercept him, or Sydney might go instead.

Again Sydney paused. "...We might as well. After all, Hardin, consider where he intends to take it - who he plans to give his report to. The same commander who gave these men their orders."

Meaning Father Raffeyn. Who was now dead, and the outpost where he had been assigned... Hardin found himself grinning as he let the Sight slip away. "...He has something of a surprise awaiting him."

The tension had left Sydney's body, and he relaxed with a true laugh against Hardin's chest. "I should think so, yes."

Sydney's laughter, and his own imaginings of the look on the poor courier's face when he arrived to find no more than ruins... Hardin couldn't refrain from laughing as well, wrapping his arms around Sydney fondly. 

When Hardin looked down again, Sydney had tilted his head to look up at him, and his sly smirk had turned to a softer smile. "Let's go, Hardin. Leá Monde awaits our return, as do our brethren."

Hardin nodded. He'd apparently slept enough, and Sydney was the one making the suggestion, so there was no reason not to set out. "Yes... It will be good to be home."

As they made ready to leave, Hardin putting out the fire while Sydney went to refill the waterskin, something perhaps noteworthy occurred to him. When Sydney returned, he thought to mention it. "Sydney..." he began, as Sydney was taking up his belongings, belting his sword to his waist. "When I scryed the road earlier, nothing unusual happened. As far as I can tell, the Dark did not attempt any sort of... temptation, coercion. Nothing at all."

"Hmm..." Sydney took on a thoughtful look as he took up his cloak, tossing it over his shoulders and fastening it. "Good."

Hardin waited, hoping for some sort of elaboration as he followed Sydney outside. "...Do you think it means anything?"

"I could not say," Sydney acknowledged. "But I'm certain that it is good." Hardin supposed there was no debating that point, at least.

Just behind Sydney, the staff that had borne Hardin's weight from the start of their journey leaned against the wall beside the door. Until seeing it there, Hardin had not even thought about it, for his legs had seemed much more inclined to support him. It was tempting to do away with it...

But then, it was still dark, the road ahead increasingly mountainous and in places uneven from the quake's damage, and though the rain had ceased, the wind still blew in sudden harsh gusts. They had some way yet to walk, and Hardin grudgingly acknowledged that it would be better to bring it than to be caught lacking in additional support if he tired or became unsteady more quickly than he expected - which had happened when they'd set out the previous morning. With not a little reluctance, he took it up, and turned to find Sydney smiling at him. "Soon, Hardin."

Hardin nodded. "Yes... soon."

\-----

Even had it been light out, Sydney could always tell when they were drawing near to the city before it became visible ahead, for the salt smell of the sea wafted upon the wind. Always it was appreciated, that small touch of wind and water - as if Marduk and Talia were the first of the gods to welcome he and the other servants of Müllenkamp back to her ancestral home. With the current weather and the darkness of night, a gust brought it to him suddenly and caused him to lift his head in surprise. At his side, Hardin turned his head to see what had caught Sydney's attention, and inhaled the same, joining Sydney in gratitude with his own relieved smile.

The sea was much closer than the city, however. They reached it near dawn, and the road began to angle upwards into more rocky terrain as they followed it along the coastline. The earliest sections of the road were weathered and overgrown but mostly intact, having been constructed around the steepest inclines of the mountains on one side, ever-increasing cliffs on the other. The scent of the sea was strong now, and they could hear the sounds of the waves driven by the wind crashing against the rocks below; around a few more curves, the terrain would flatten out for a time, and likely they would then be able to catch their first glimpses of Leá Monde in the morning sun. 

Hardin knew the way as well as Sydney now, and in spite of the growing ache in his legs, Sydney observed that he was moving more quickly. Sydney considered slowing his own pace, forcing Hardin to hold back - but Hardin was not made of glass, and Sydney was just as eager to be done with this journey, no matter how he might feel when they eventually fell into bed. Perhaps after a hot meal, for the kitchens certainly would not have been idle in their absence. Perhaps a drink or two as well, after all they had been through. A bottle of wine for the two of them to disappear with...

Abruptly he realized such thoughts were premature when he sensed a presence ahead on the road. Rather, several presences, and he could guess who it was likely to be in spite of being at such a distance that he could barely sense them at all. They had, after all, set out with foreknowledge of men that would be taking the same road, the single runner that night a portent.

To one side of the road was a cliff that dropped off to the sea, with only sparse foliage growing in the rocky soil between the ancient paving stones and the edge. To the other, a mountainside dotted with only slightly less sparse brush, for much of it had withered away with the coming of autumn. Certainly nothing that he and Hardin could hide themselves within. Sydney was suddenly quite irritated with himself for not considering that this portion of the road left them with so few options - though there would have been little reason to consider it. It was almost unheard of that they would ever encounter anyone but the other brethren in such a place.

Hardin came to a halt when Sydney did, and gave him a curious look. "The surviving Crimson Blades are on their way home from their ill-considered attack," Sydney informed him. "I sense them on the road ahead. Still some ways off," he added, seeing Hardin immediately aim appraising glances at the roadsides much the same as he had. "There is no need for immediate concern."

Hardin's expression grew grim. "...I would gladly deal with them. Yet as I have no sword, and cannot cast, that is not an offer I can make."

Sydney nodded. He of course _did_ have a sword, and there was no reason he could not use his magic. He could in fact offer Hardin his sword, and they might fight in tandem... But then, Hardin was tired and sore, as much as he would not admit to it. As for Sydney, he had no appetite for battle even against the Blades that had plagued their existence for the last several years - he only wanted to be _home_. Yet to get there, they would have to pass by, or through, some small but not insignificant number of knights.

Finally he sighed, gazing out at the light dancing upon the water beyond the cliffs as he considered. "...We cannot avoid them unless we go back, which I have no intention of doing. I would just as soon not waste the time nor the energy on fighting them. We might be able to slip past them with a glamour, provided they are not overly suspicious at finding more travelers on such an unusual road."

"It's worth trying," Hardin agreed. "But if they _are_ suspicious?"

"I will do what I must." Sydney sincerely hoped they would not be. Even so... "...They are the last obstacle that stands between us and Leá Monde. And our bed."

"And real food," Hardin added, following Sydney's lead as he set out down the road once more. 

Sydney smiled, for he and Hardin clearly were thinking along the same lines. "I had thought to bring a bottle of wine when we retired... Red or white, do you think?"

"I'm inclined toward red," Hardin replied, his mood already noticeably lighter. "Though it depends somewhat on what we might find to eat."

The casual conversation of what they had to look forward to after perhaps only a few more hours of travel served both the purpose of taking their minds off the approaching knights, and making them all the more eager to do whatever it took to reach the city. In the back of his mind, Sydney was drawing up a plan, for he could not assign them any of the usual false identities they sometimes adopted in towns they frequently visited; it was possible the Blades had been surveilling, but were not yet sure enough to have acted. And if the Blades later spotted them on such errands, or questioned the townspeople about the strangers they had seen on this deserted stretch of road, they might need to invent new identities anyhow. So something new and different, then...

Once they had gone far enough that the Blades would soon be in view, Sydney stopped again. "It is time we become someone else, Hardin. Would you hear my plan?"

"Always." Hardin had come to a halt leaning with both hands on the staff - not because he was so weary as that, but because he had the opportunity to rest - and that made Sydney all the more certain that his plan was a good one, so long as Hardin did not balk at his role. 

When the Crimson Blades were sighted coming around a bend far down the road, they clearly noticed the two travelers ahead, for Sydney heard the curiosity and wariness in their hearts as they pointed the two figures out to one another and considered what action they might take - for much like Sydney and Hardin, they were tired, some of them wounded. As they drew closer, and Sydney and Hardin continued walking along the road as if the knights ahead were of no concern, the Blades became somewhat less wary, at the least.

Even so, once they were near enough, one of the Blades ordered them to halt. His sword was drawn, and the other knights had fanned out behind him at a short distance from one another, their hands on their weapons. The cardinal's men had apparently faced Sydney's often enough now that they had learned better than to band together too closely, lest they all fall victim to a single spell. That would make things more difficult if the plan did not work, Sydney supposed, but surely he could manage.

"Who are you?" the knight asked Sydney as he stepped forward, in the guise of a rather plain-looking peasant in shabby clothing. "What brings you to travel this way?"

"My name is Hans," Sydney replied, pretending at flustered politeness. "Only a simple cobbler from a village close to Suendia, good sirs. I must say, I had not expected to find servants of the Light so far from anywhere of note."

"The Light is everywhere," replied the knight easily. "As I asked before, for what purpose do you travel this road?"

"For the sake of my father." Sydney turned, gesturing to Hardin behind him, in the guise of an elderly man dressed in similar fashion, making it quite reasonable for him to be leaning upon a staff. "He was born in Leá Monde, you see - and though the city has fallen, now that he is in his twilight years, he wishes to look upon it one last time while he has the strength for the journey."

Some of the knights seemed to consider this story plausible. Others were more skeptical, including the one who spoke to him. "Have you not heard? No one can reach the city since the quake."

Sydney nodded. "Indeed - we thought to look upon it from afar. There are tales, besides, of an evil there... we would not dare to venture too close."

"You have heard correctly," the knight told them. "Both the route towards the city and the surrounding area are unsafe. You and your father must turn back."

"Ah, but we have come so far," Sydney lamented, and gave him a questioning look. "And did you not just say yourself that the Light is everywhere? Surely we will be protected."

"God does not protect fools who are intent on folly," the knight retorted. Sydney sensed that he was clearly growing more suspicious. "If you wish to be protected by the Light, you should come along with us while we return to civilized country."

There were only... six of them, Sydney counted. And at least half were struggling with wounds painful enough to be distracting. "Oh, good sirs - you need not concern yourselves with the fates of men like ourselves," he assured them with a slight bow, preparing to move on. "Please, carry on with whatever business has brought _you_ here, and we will take responsibility for ourselves."

The knight who spoke was growing no less suspicious as he eyed Sydney, clearly considering what he thought of the suggestion. "...You are correct," he said finally. "We need not concern ourselves with such as you."

Reading the thoughts of the man's heart, Sydney abruptly reached for the sword at his waist - but he had not had time yet to draw it all the way before the knight's sword was buried in his chest.

\-----

At Sydney's request, Hardin had hung a short ways back, intending to let him do the talking and, if necessary, the fighting - but he had seen the movement of the knight's arm, the shift of the sword in his hand before he raised his arm to strike. Only barely did Hardin refrain from calling out Sydney's name in alarm as he began to lunge forward.

Under the circumstances, it wouldn't have mattered. With Sydney fallen, the glamour he had settled upon them fell away as well, and the knight immediately recognized the church's most notorious foe. "It's Losstarot!" he exclaimed in shock, seeing the metal of Sydney's arms, which clattered eerily as he fell upon the paving stones. As the others gaped at the ruse that had been uncovered, the knight who had taken command must have realized who the old man therefore must be...

By the time he looked up to Hardin, Hardin was already upon him, standing over Sydney's body and driving the knight back. Hardin was perhaps not so well-acquainted with the staff as with the sword, but the range was favorable, and even if he did not do much attacking, he could go on blocking his opponent's blows for some time. If he could keep them occupied long enough for Sydney to recover...

But there _were_ six of the Blades, and only one of him. It was difficult to keep track of who was where, for they were closing in around him. Hardin let go of the staff with one hand, taking advantage of the need to duck one knight's blow to reach for the sword Sydney had started to draw just before he had fallen. Much better, even if Sydney favored a shorter sword than he.

Now with a weapon he was more accustomed to attacking with, and the staff still in one hand to block opponents from the other side, Hardin could do more than simply hold his own and wait for Sydney. His weariness and aches were all but forgotten in the need to drive them back from Sydney's body, and the length of the staff proved useful as he turned it sideways to block two attacking knights at once - one of whom was not expecting the move, and left himself vulnerable underneath to a blow by the sword.

That still left five others, and Hardin recognized that he was unlikely to be able to hold them all off long enough for Sydney to both return to life and recover enough to cast. At least... not with only the staff and the sword. Ordinarily five knights would not have presented a problem for him, particularly as some of them were already wounded and favoring an arm or leg, but...

Hardin hesitated only a moment before deciding that he had little choice, though his heart was already pounding, and for more reasons than his worry for Sydney and the exertion of the fight. Whatever might come of it... Sydney had helped him before, had he not? Sydney had been able to bring him back - and the odds of Sydney being able to do the same again were better than his odds of fighting off half a dozen Crimson Blades on his own without using the Dark. 

The Blades were all so close together now that he might have taken them out with a single spell, were they not close _around_ him. He would need to attack one at a time instead. As much as Hardin feared what might become of him, the words came easily to his lips even as he blocked and countered the Blades' attacks. He could feel the power flowing to him, through him... perhaps unusually eager as it followed its instructions. Sydney's sword shone in his hand as the Dark moved through it; though the nearest knight blocked Hardin's next blow, mere steel could not halt the flow of the energy that followed the motion, and he fell back, choking as the Dark engulfed him.

...Had there always been that sense of glee, when he used the Dark to kill? Hardin had no time to think upon it, and began to cast again. In the moment, it helped that the Dark was so willing to please, so enthusiastic about doing his bidding. Another knight fell before the same, and the glee became a thrilling rush of power. The Dark hungered, and he fed it; he might provide it a feast. Blood on his blade, blood splashing over the stones on the road...

Within that pool of blood, just behind where Hardin made his stand, he heard a muffled cough. Sydney's body was mending itself, the Dark working for life rather than death.

Hardin was brought back to himself not with a sudden jolt as if he had awakened from some dream, but rather it was as if a curtain had been drawn back, allowing the light to gently fall upon him. ...He didn't understand what it meant, and he didn't have time to consider it, for he was still under attack. Yet only one knight was facing him now, which was far easier to manage than the number he had originally been fighting off. It did not take long before that knight too had joined his companions, and then...

Sydney was gasping for breath as Hardin dropped sword and staff and knelt to help him sit, himself also breathing heavily. Blood was at the corner of Sydney's mouth... but only a small trickle. Hardin was relieved, and somewhat surprised, that although he could sense the Dark dancing about in the carnage, he could be more concerned for Sydney's wellbeing. The Dark begged for more violence, ever hungry for further destruction, but this time... Hardin could suppress the urge to join with it; his desire at present was for something else entirely. "Sydney..." he breathed.

Coughing again, more faintly, Sydney brushed at the blood upon his lips, looked down at the blood that still dripped over the newly healed skin of his torso with something akin to annoyance. "I had not thought them to be so repugnant as to murder a harmless peasant," he muttered.

"We've seen them do much the same in the past," Hardin observed grimly, taking Sydney by the shoulders to steady him. In spite of not being overwhelmed by the Dark, he could still _feel_ it cavorting about the death he had given it, cackling with anticipation... of...

It was waiting for something. Hardin had only barely turned his head in surprise to see the knight lying upon his belly in the road - no blood upon him, crossbow raised - when Sydney's arm snaked out past him, rising in silent petition. The knight uttered a choked cry as he too was engulfed by the Dark, the crossbow falling harmlessly from his lifeless hands to clatter upon the paving stones.

With that done, Sydney let himself slump against Hardin's shoulder. Hardin wrapped an arm around his back, leaned upon him in return, both of them resting there to catch their breath.

"...No, I was careless," Sydney continued his earlier thought, once he had recovered himself enough to sit upright again, and he reached for his satchel. "They were wounded and weary... I thought, like ourselves, they would rather just pass by in favor of a quick return. I was mistaken - their weariness and the strangeness of their recent battle made them more suspicious of the unknown, rather than inclined to simply let it be."

Hardin could guess what Sydney intended, and he sat back to give Sydney space as he retrieved the waterskin and stood to remove his cloak - of course it would be unpleasant to walk home covered with his own blood. And on second thought, Hardin reached for the sword he had dropped as the last knight had fallen before him, or so he had thought. The blade was smeared with blood, and he stood to approach one of the fallen knights, to wipe the blade with the edge of a crimson and gold cloak. 

...The Dark was suspiciously absent, or at least quiet, even as he looked upon the blood... the sharp edge of Sydney's sword. The corpses that lay strewn about the road, most slain by the Dark at his command...

Before he could speak, Sydney did. "You have no need to ask forgiveness of me, Hardin. Your judgment was correct, and..." He hesitated, seemingly finding it just as curious as Hardin did. "It seems that no ill has come of your actions?"

Hardin shook his head, returning to sink down by Sydney's clothing and satchel and just sit for a time, waiting while Sydney rinsed himself as well as he could manage at the road's edge. "Such scenes as... this..." He glanced back at the remains of the knights, at the red-tinged water that ran down Sydney's body. "The Dark had caused me to imagine blood and violence... drawing me into its own longing. And it felt eager when I dared to call it forth. It was pleased with the blood we shed together. Yet... as far as I can tell, it left me to myself again once you slew the last."

Surely Sydney heard Hardin's unspoken question, but he did not answer. Perhaps he did not have one to give. Instead he remained in thoughtful silence as he poured a bit more water over his skin, and finally looked up to Hardin with a small smile. "...I suppose I need not conserve our water when we will be home so soon."

"Given the way everything has turned out since we left," Hardin muttered, "I would take nothing for granted."

"An excellent point," Sydney acknowledged. Having finished washing to the best of his ability, he returned to where Hardin sat. "And assuming the rest of our journey is uninterrupted, already I fear I must adjust my expectations for our return. Bathing, then food, then perhaps a bottle of wine - if we have not already fallen asleep at the table."

Hardin smiled in return, and handed Sydney his leggings. "I might even go so far as to skip the food, but indeed... after this, not the bathing."

While Sydney dressed, Hardin pushed himself up to his feet again, testing his legs - and seeking out the staff which he had also dropped at the battle's end. ...It had turned out to be very fortunate that he had brought it along in spite of his disdain, he thought as he retrieved it from where it lay, half beneath the last knight he had slain. And then again...

Sydney raised an eyebrow at the sight of Hardin wiping clean the knight's sword as well, and unfastening the belt and scabbard from the man's waist. "I would take _nothing_ for granted," Hardin repeated. Then he hesitated, remembering the last time Sydney had looked at him askance in regards to a sword. "...Unless you believe me to be suffering delusions again...?"

Sydney shook his head. "The fact that you asked makes me all the more certain that you are only being your usual sensible self."

Hardin hoped he was right. "Even if no further trouble finds us on the road," he supposed, belting the weapon to his own waist, "we will have another sword from the king's finest smiths to add to our own armory."

He looked up again at Sydney's quiet laugh. "Confirmation," Sydney answered his questioning look, and having finished fastening his cloak once more, stretched a hand out towards Hardin, beckoning. His smile, though tired, showed that he had regained something of his usual serenity. "Come, let us move on... it shouldn't be long now before we can see the city - and before the sky begins to darken, we shall be within its walls."

As thoroughly exhausted as Hardin was, such a promise - and the desire to follow that smile anywhere it might go - was enough to keep him moving.

\-----

The sight of the skyline of Leá Monde beyond the last of the mountains was a relief to them both, a beacon they could look to and follow for the remainder of the journey. Unconsciously they had quickened their pace again, Sydney realized - and though Hardin was as responsible as he, he said nothing to discourage it. Even so, as soon as they were close enough...

Before they had come near to the entrance to the cellars, they were set upon by Domenic, who with his hounds had been keeping watch, and he was overjoyed to see the two of them upon the road rather than more of the Crimson Blades returning. Sydney could not help smiling when faced with his laughter, and as they continued on the way together, explained why he was certain the Blades would not be returning anytime soon. Hardin followed behind more slowly, leaning heavily upon the staff as he listened, but with a relieved smile. 

Recognizing that Hardin would not be upright much longer, once they had greeted the others stationed near the cellar entrance, Sydney opted to shorten the walk as he had initially intended, transporting himself and Hardin past the underground and directly inside the city walls. He gave some thought to their destination instead being the baths directly, so that Hardin might wash and then go to lie down without any delay... but the reception Hardin received upon the two of them entering into the halls of the keep affirmed that he had made the correct choice. It had been over a week since Hardin had been taken captive by the Blades, and almost immediately upon the first person spotting them, he was surrounded by friends, brothers-in-arms, exclaiming their good cheer at his return. Though slightly overwhelmed, Hardin's tired smile turned to a wide grin and laughter at the exuberant greetings and occasional good-natured teasing among them.

Sydney did not begrudge him the attention - Sydney's own return had never been in question to their minds, and the brethren all but worshiped him ordinarily. It was strangely pleasing to simply stand back and watch them celebrating Hardin instead. Hardin, who deserved all this and more, for Sydney would not have been able to endure without him. ...And surely Hardin would never say a word of what had befallen Sydney in that place, knowing as he did how terrifying and degrading it had been.

As for what Hardin had endured, Sydney would not mention it to anyone either - just as he had never spoken to anyone, rarely even Hardin himself, about the nightmares he had already suffered so frequently. Even now, in the familiarity of the keep, surrounded by their closest companions, Sydney could sense after a time that there was a tension growing in Hardin's heart behind the smile: a rising panic, a need for escape from close quarters and stone walls and unending echoing voices. Rather than waiting for it to become more unpleasant than the camaraderie was satisfying, Sydney stepped in to excuse the two of them, for the walk had been long, the Crimson Blades had interrupted their journey that morning, and they would both like to be clean of the dust of the road before dinner.

The sigh Hardin heaved once they were alone in the baths was as much resignation as it was relief. Sydney understood all too well. Even if his troubles with the Dark and its influence seemed to be diminishing for whatever reason, everything that had led up to Hardin's near-fatal encounter with the Dark had been traumatic also. That manner of trauma was more mundane, ordinary - and paradoxically might prove more difficult to distance himself from. He could feel the conflicting emotions within Hardin - the joy and warmth of being surrounded by the familiar faces of friends welcoming him home, yet there was a part of him that couldn't quite believe it was true, a part of him still trapped behind bars, alone. Part of him that had never even dreamed of such a homecoming, and did not believe it could be anything _but_ a dream.

Sydney might have been able to guess at such things, but with Hardin so weary and the relaxation that came from being home at last, his heart was less guarded than usual. "It is done now," Sydney told him, as they settled down to start undressing beside one of the large baths, the water let in from the river that flowed past and heated by the fires burning beneath the basins. "And yet it is not over, is it?"

Hardin looked up to him with an almost wary look before taking his meaning. "...I doubt it ever will be," he admitted, staring blankly down at his boots as he removed them, "if the past is any precedent. When we set out a few days ago, I did not feel as though I fit within my own body, as if my very soul had changed shape... and now I feel as though I do not fit in this place I longed to return to... the only place I have called home for years."

"Yet when we came upon you," Sydney reminded him, "you were even more troubled and weary. I recall that you felt much more at peace after little more than a wash, a meal, and a night's sleep. Let us begin there."

Hardin was quiet for a long moment, his eyes still downcast as he removed his jacket and his shirt. "I had lost everything at that time," he said finally. "There was no place for me whatsoever in this world." Hardin paused in his undressing, staring down into the water of the baths. "...It was not cleanliness, nor food, nor rest, nor this city that we have returned to time and time again, that made me feel as though I had somewhere I belonged, Sydney."

Having had less clothing to remove, Sydney was already bare - yet he only sat at the edge of the bath, waiting for Hardin to undress while he worked through his thoughts. And admittedly Sydney was working through some of his own. After a moment, he slid into the warm water and stretched a hand out towards Hardin. Not beckoning, not just yet, but simply looking at his strange, sharp fingers, and between them, Hardin sitting just beyond.

"...I have never belonged in this world," Sydney said at last. "From my childhood, I have been a tool for the gods to make use of - not unwillingly, but nonetheless, I was always aware that this was temporary. My sight has been fixed on other realms, my soul waiting for the next step... the step upwards." Hardin had lifted his troubled eyes to look upon Sydney, and Sydney met them, grave and calm. "...And then I found myself less impatient for that step. Instead, for the first time, I was content to linger in this world a bit longer. ...Having found a way in which I was bound to this world as well - by more than the mere possession of a physical body, yet through such a body did these bindings come."

Hardin understood. He could not make sense of his own thoughts, but Sydney felt that he understood what Sydney was trying to tell him. Now Sydney did turn his hand at the wrist, beckoning. "Come, Hardin. Let us first tend to our bodies, for their needs are straightforward. Afterwards, then might we tend to the soul." In silence Hardin nodded, and finished undressing, so that he might join Sydney in the water.

Sydney had submerged himself completely, letting the water engulf every inch of him, and he shook the water from his hair as Hardin stepped in with him, slow and somewhat unsteady. Or perhaps uneasy, for Hardin knew what the Dark often prompted in Sydney after it had brought him back from the dead. Ordinarily he was pleased to sate the appetite that the Dark drew forth in Sydney, for he certainly did not receive nothing in exchange for Sydney using his body to satisfy the yearning of the flesh. Yet at the moment, despite the pull he felt in his own soul, the need to draw close to Sydney, his body was already tired and sore.

As Hardin had observed himself only the day before, Sydney was not the Dark, and he was in control of himself. And as Hardin would have preferred to remain still for a time, undisturbed and calm, there could be other ways in which Sydney's newly restored flesh might find satisfaction. The water warming him was in itself a sort of pleasure after having walked so far in a chill wind, for instance. And so when Hardin settled himself down in the water, enjoying the same pleasure for a moment before looking about for a cloth, Sydney settled beside him in the water, reaching out to draw him nearer... but _only_ to draw him nearer, to embrace him in the comfortable heat, to feel the softness of skin against his own, the additional warmth of it against his limbs which generated none of their own.

Though Hardin was not _entirely_ disinterested, and his arms likewise wound around Sydney's waist, Sydney sensed a wary resignation in his heart. Sydney smiled. "This is enough," he assured Hardin.

Hardin relaxed at the words, closing his eyes and letting himself rest against Sydney. Then, a faint chuckle. "For now. If I were not so exhausted..."

"Later you will be less so." A promise, as well as a reminder.

Yet Hardin _was_ exhausted, and though the warmth soothed some of the minor pains away, Sydney would not keep him from his bed. They both had their own bathing to do, besides; Sydney clearing away the traces of dried blood that he had been unable to remove with only a rinsing earlier and then simply relaxing in the water, Hardin scrubbing himself as if he could remove even the memories of the dusty cell and his imprisonment, then removing himself to go to one of the smaller washbasins, so that he could shave at last. Sydney watched attentively, given Hardin's thoughts not long past regarding a razor - but the darkest of them now was only Hardin's disgust at how ragged he appeared, and he set about at once.

Afterwards, as Hardin pondered his wavering reflection in the water, Sydney finally, reluctantly, emerged from the bath. "You look much more like your usual self," he observed.

"And I feel somewhat more so," Hardin muttered. "It is a start."

Sydney nodded, resting his hands upon Hardin's arms from behind. "It is. If you are finished here, perhaps you would just as soon not have to dress again and walk back to our quarters?"

"That would be appreciated, yes." To put the clothes they had been wearing back on, to walk through the halls and perhaps be spotted by still more who wished to welcome him home and hear what had happened... Sydney could understand why Hardin wanted none of it.

Later, of course Hardin would be glad to be surrounded by their brethren. Once he had had some time to relax in familiar surroundings and convince his heart that he was no longer in danger, and to that end Sydney transported them directly to the room that had once been his own, but which the two of them had long shared. Finding fresh clothing, Sydney dressed again quickly while Hardin was still drowsily going through his own, and excused himself to see to what they might have for dinner, and perhaps speak with Kermiak briefly about their respective encounters with the Crimson Blades.

By the time he returned, with a plate of bread and cheese so as to start early on a meal that was not yet fully cooked, Sydney was not entirely surprised to find Hardin had only put on a nightshirt and was on the bed, already asleep. ...Well then. Tempted as Sydney was to join him, the bathing and the speaking and his relief to be home had refreshed him more than he had expected, and there were others among the brethren who would be glad to see him and speak with him, and he might take his dinner with them. For the moment, he would leave Hardin to slumber without any disturbances.

Or so he hoped. If Hardin had yet found a dream, it did not seem to be troubling him, but Sydney was sure such dreams would come.

\-----

Indeed, it was not so much that Hardin found a dream, but the dream found him. It entombed him in cold, rough stone, lit by the faint flickering of torchlight. The cell was growing smaller by the moment, closing in on him, the guards mocking at him...

He opened his eyes with a start that caused his entire body to tense, and looked upon cold, rough stone, lit by the faint flickering-

"Hardin."

It was not the guards' mockery, but only someone saying his name, urgently yet gently. The wall he faced was stone, yes, but he lay upon a mattress - a blissfully soft mattress, to his mind - and when he turned over... admittedly the first thing he noticed was that he ached nearly everywhere, as if he _had_ been sleeping on a stone floor. Quickly enough he recognized that the flickering light came not from torches set in the walls, but a hearth. The room was dim, but further light came from a candle resting upon the small nearby table, beside which sat two chairs, one of which held...

Sydney was gazing at him with mild concern, having looked up from the book that rested in his lap. Hardin closed his eyes and leaned his head back, taking a deep breath. How could he have confused their room for a prison cell?

"The mind plays tricks," Sydney answered readily. "Even when the Dark has not seen fit to involve itself, a dream may deceive the dreamer. I hope you don't object to my having woken you - I thought it best not to wait and see if you became further distressed. Or to see if something more difficult than an ordinary dream might arise."

Hardin shook his head, pressing a hand against his brow, as if he could banish the thoughts and the visions from returning. "No... Not at all, I appreciate it."

Sydney had fallen silent, but Hardin thought little about it until he opened his eyes again. Instead of finding Sydney having gone back to his reading as he'd expected, Sydney continued to gaze at him with that vaguely concerned look. Or perhaps hesitant, Hardin thought as Sydney finally spoke again, more subdued. "Is there anything I might be able to do for you? Perhaps we might go for a walk, outside."

Hardin had been having such dreams as these for as long as he had known Sydney, and he could not remember Sydney having asked before. Indeed, Sydney had recognized that the dreams shamed him, and had rarely if ever so much as acknowledged that he knew of them. Though certainly Sydney _had_ known, and knew why Hardin often started his days sitting out by the river, Hardin had been glad for Sydney's willingness to just let it be and never speak of it. Yet having him ask now... Hardin found it touching, rather than the humiliation he had expected.

Yet again he shook his head, and this time started to sit up. "Already it fades. But... thank you."

With the fading of the dream, memories of the reality of the past few days, and the few days before, were beginning to return to Hardin. But they were only memories - and they had made it home. They were in Leá Monde, they were safe and clean and warm... Sydney was already returning to his usual habits, for it was a common enough sight within that particular room, seeing Sydney sitting in that chair, by that table, reading by candlelight well into the night. It was almost as if nothing had happened... Hardin wished he could forget that any of it had happened.

"Memories, especially those from which our hearts recoil, may go the way of dreams with time," Sydney answered, and placed a marker in his book before setting it aside. "But it does take time, and always there is the chance that they may resurface unexpectedly. For our past is our truth, and the truth might be refused or ignored - but never can it be destroyed."

"That isn't terribly comforting," Hardin muttered, taking the measure of his sore muscles as he carefully stretched.

"Neither is truth meant to be comforting," Sydney replied simply. "It is only truth."

Looking at Sydney sitting there, dangerous hands folded comfortably in his lap, his expression calm and neutral... Hardin found the corners of his mouth turning up at the thought: Truth was much like someone he knew.

Sydney had heard, for he regarded Hardin with a small smile in return for a moment. "As you are awake, and intend to remain awake, perhaps some dinner is in order?"

" _Is_ there still dinner?" Hardin didn't know how long he'd slept, but he suspected it had been hours, and a moment to scrye outside the keep confirmed that it was night.

Almost immediately he remembered he had been cautioned against scrying and stopped, but if Sydney noticed, he didn't say anything about it. "I couldn't know how long you might sleep, so I've already eaten," he said, standing to approach the hearth, and now Hardin saw that there was a trivet set within, a basket placed before the flames. "But I brought some back from the kitchens for you, and have been keeping it warm..." He inhaled deeply as he turned back the cloth covering the basket. "...I daresay I might have some more myself. Especially seeing as I thought to save the wine until you had woken to share it."

Now Hardin could smell the aroma of warm bread, and yes - he was definitely interested in dinner. "I had thought the wine was to put us to sleep quickly anyhow."

"That would have been one reason for wine, yes, but you needed no such help," Sydney pointed out with a smirk, placing the basket upon the table, then turning back to take the pot from the trivet. "And as the other reason for the wine was that the two of us might share it, it would have been rather absurd to drink while you slept."

There was also a platter set against the wall away from the warmth of the fire, which Hardin hadn't noticed until Sydney retrieved it. Bowls and spoons, cups - and yes, the bottle of wine. Again the normalcy of it all, for he and Sydney had taken their meals in this room many times, made Hardin feel slightly out of place. As if he could not be sure whether he had dreamed it all... or if he was dreaming now.

He hadn't consciously recognized that the panic was rising once more until a hand rested upon his shoulder, cold through the thin fabric of his nightshirt. "You are here now, John," Sydney murmured. "I promise you."

"...Yes. Thank you." Hardin took a deep breath, trying to stay focused. The smell of the bread and what seemed to be a vegetable soup, drifting to him when he took that breath, were somewhat helpful in that regard.

Also slightly dissonant was the way Sydney was setting out the dishes on the table. Most often he and Sydney had eaten here rather than in the dining hall when they were privately discussing their plans, but there had also been numerous times when Hardin had been setting out dishes for the two of them because Sydney was still unwell after having drawn too deeply upon the Dark, or spent too long speaking with the gods in their own realm. It was an oddity to have Sydney watching over him instead... and yet also comforting, to know for certain that Sydney would have done the same as he. The memory of his inability to so much as drink water comfortably when they set out, his illness on the road...

Sydney was an enigma and a miracle, and always would be. Hardin had always seen him as a man as well, and that side of Sydney seemed to have shown itself more readily over the past few days - showing itself to be not so different from Hardin at all. It was nothing Hardin had not believed over the past four years at Sydney's side, but he welcomed any further evidence.

Sydney would not offer any aloud, of course, though he must have heard these thoughts within Hardin's heart as easily as he had heard the others. Hardin had also come to believe that Sydney could _not_ acknowledge himself as an ordinary man, or his faith in himself as a servant of the gods would falter. The admission he had made while they bathed earlier returned to Hardin, regarding his interest in remaining in the realm of ordinary men... that was probably as close as Sydney could come.

Hardin had settled himself at the table with Sydney and begun serving himself some of the soup, as well as taking a piece of the bread and bit of cheese from the platter. "There were apples as well," Sydney told him, helping himself to some bread also. "I thought you might not have as much interest in those."

Hardin chuckled. "I bear no grudge against apples - they tasted good and they served us well. But indeed, I might go a meal or two without them."

Sydney nodded, and took up the bottle of wine. "I opted to skip them myself. If I change my mind later, there are still a few left in the satchel," he noted, with a quiet chuckle of his own. "I gathered what we left in the baths while you slept. Our clothing can be laundered or mended as needed, and I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of turning over your new sword to Kermiak, to add to our collection."

Hardin shook his head. "Not at all, I'd intended the same. You've spoken to him, then."

"Yes, and I'll let him tell you the tale of the battle. His telling would be far more interesting than mine." Having opened the wine, Sydney began to pour - first the cup before Hardin, then his own. "And of course he was curious about what the two of us had been up to, as were several others at dinner. Including our dear friend..."

The sardonic edge to his words made it fairly obvious who Sydney was referring to, for there was only one among them who was not truly a friend to any of them. "Rosencrantz," Hardin muttered, the mention of the man darkening the otherwise pleasantly ordinary moment. Sydney would not have done so if there was not a reason. "What did he have to say?"

"I was correct that he did not know of our capture, nor even our plan, before he returned to find the battle at the cellar entrance," said Sydney, setting the bottle between them and taking up his bread. "It was from the brethren that he had learned of your captivity, and he was _quite_ relieved that I had returned safely, after having heard that I had put myself at risk for the sake of... you. After so carelessly allowing yourself to be captured..."

The last was spoken with a knowing look, an arched eyebrow, and Hardin sighed irritably. "I'm sure he was _very_ concerned for your safety, yes."

"I informed him, as well as the others at the table, that I had been taken briefly as well, for it was not a lack of caution or cleverness on your part that led to your capture, but their commander unexpectedly finding a way to prohibit the use of the Dark." Sydney met Hardin's dark glower with a coy smile. "I also informed him that it was you who managed to find a way to free the both of us - though naturally I left out any of the details."

"...Ah. I see." Imagining what Rosencrantz might have thought about hearing Sydney praise his ingenuity... that made Hardin feel rather better. In fact, he couldn't repress a small smirk of his own. Which was almost certainly Sydney's intention in telling him, for Sydney's smile widened too.

The two of them ate in silence for a little longer, Hardin using the bread as well as the spoon to finish every drop of the soup, Sydney breaking off bits of bread and cheese to eat them together. His gaze grew somewhat distant, as it often did. "I left out rather a lot of the details," he said after a while. "Not only to frustrate Rosencrantz. Much that happened while we were gone... no one need know but us."

"Absolutely," Hardin said at once. "I agree."

"But _we_ do know," Sydney added, more quietly, and met Hardin's eyes over the meal. "And as much as we might wish otherwise... I will not forget. _Any_ of it."

Hardin nodded, only slightly. He did not think Sydney was speaking within his heart... yet somehow the way Sydney spoke, the way he looked at Hardin, Hardin knew what he was referring to. "Though I would be glad to be rid of most of it... there are moments I too would regret if they were to be lost." Sitting by the fire roasting apples together, Sydney carefully washing his back in the darkness, caressing his face with cool fingers as he lay in the grass...

Sydney reached out his hand across the table, the tips of his fingers resting gently against Hardin's face, lingering there briefly before they retreated, taking up the cup that sat before him on the table. "A toast, perhaps..." he mused.

"To what?" Yet Hardin was game, whatever Sydney had in mind, and took up his own cup.

Sydney paused, considering. "To the blessings," he said after a moment, "hidden within cursed memories."

That seemed apt. Hardin touched his cup lightly to Sydney's with a nod.


	5. Days Later

They had started off with simple spells, those that could be cast quickly and were not meant for harm - such things as increasing one's strength or causing the enchanted cloudstones throughout the city to move. Yet to maintain caution forever was as good as doing nothing at all; if Hardin wished to return to his usual role among the brethren, they must know for certain.

And only _if_. Sydney had made it clear, more than once when Hardin had fallen into his frequent habit of doubting himself, that it was his choice to make. If Hardin would prefer to keep his distance from using the Dark himself, he could still be of use as a fighter, as a strategist, as an advisor. And of course, Sydney said with a smirk, there were further unofficial roles he would maintain...

But Hardin was willing to try, even when wary. Upon the road to Leá Monde, when he'd slain the knights with his first use of a spell since his experience with the Dark, the Dark had certainly been speaking to him and urging him on, but it had not tried to overwhelm him. That was perhaps strange, but promising.

He'd found that the whispers were still present upon occasion, particularly when he moved on to offensive magic, for bringing forth such spells and yet receiving no blood or death for its troubles seemed to aggravate the Dark. Still it was nothing he could not handle. As much as he found himself intrigued by its suggestions, having Sydney there, standing by and watching him with that intense stare, had kept him from entertaining them for too long. Sydney's presence itself was a reminder of where he was and who he was, and why he should stay.

And the desire to leave this world behind... Hardin had to concede that it was not only the Dark's influence as he had thought initially. He had come so far from the time just before he had stumbled across Sydney and taken a chance on traveling with Müllenkamp, so far from the hopeless, bitter man who had nothing to live for, who would rather have died than return to a prison cell. He had all but left it behind, only to find himself captive once again. The revelation that it was possible - and that it might _still_ be possible in the future - left his heart unsettled anew. Shaken and despairing to the point that sometimes he lay awake at night, unable to sleep for fear of the dreams, he found himself wondering if it was worth it to go on. With the life he lived, at odds with the authorities of the land, it might be inevitable that it would happen again. He couldn't bear it. He simply couldn't, and he wouldn't.

But then Sydney would sigh softly in his sleep, shift at his side, and Hardin remembered that even this last time, it hadn't been the same, and it never would be again, for Sydney was with him. Even if Sydney would have released him from his oath, Hardin would not have left him or the followers of Müllenkamp out of fear of something that may or may not someday happen. Once he might have comforted himself with the thought that with all of Sydney's power, Sydney would never _allow_ him to be taken captive again, but that had been proven untrue. Hardin still found comfort in the fact that he had not been alone. For a time, yes, but someone had come for him.

And in fact, Sydney had needed him. Sydney had all but said that he wanted to stay in this world because Hardin was in this world. And though surely Sydney would have stayed regardless, to fulfill his service to the gods, Hardin could not be so selfish as to seek escape and leave Sydney behind.

But at present such thoughts were not occupying his mind, for it was morning. Still early, but the sun's first light shone brightly, though Hardin could see little of it from where his physical body stood. Uncomfortable as he still was with being below ground or within stone walls, much of Leá Monde fit that description, including the ruins of the ancient temple of Kiltia. It was Hardin himself who had suggested the location, because it seemed an obvious choice - the Dark ran strongest there, in the very place where their faith had been founded - yet Sydney had never suggested it himself for these exercises with Hardin. Presumably it was because he understood Hardin's anxieties, and Hardin privately conceded that he may not yet be ready, but he would not know unless he tried.

And yes, the memories of the dungeon beneath the hold where they had been taken captive did return ominously to his thoughts, but so too did the memories of his early days with Sydney as he had been taught how to use the Dark, sometimes in this very room. How to use his natural talent to scrye, how to cast spells... Walking in a circle, tracing his path with sand or chalk, preparing to call forth a summoned beast. All the while, Sydney had stood by watching him in much the same manner, appraising his work. Though now Hardin supposed the appraising look was not so much aimed at the details of his preparation, but the state of his heart as he did so.

As they had been working up to this, his heart was relatively untroubled, until it came time to actually speak the words. It was his own mind, not the Dark, that warned him of what had happened the last time, and the time before - first the Dark had not answered, and the next time it had nearly devoured him. He closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that the circumstances had been almost unimaginably strange then, and opened them again to look upon the familiar chapel where he had first learned such arts. This was not strange at all, but as ordinary and safe as was possible.

And of course a reason for that was Sydney standing nearby, watching and waiting. Surely aware of Hardin's sudden apprehension, and ready to step in if anything unexpected should happen, but for the moment he was only waiting to see what Hardin would do.

What Hardin would do was... what was expected of him. Raising his hand towards the circle he had drawn, he began the incantation. Feeling the Dark gathering about him, flowing through him - it was not as unnerving as it might have been, had Sydney not had him cast simpler spells beforehand. He'd been growing more accustomed to drawing such energies again, though the amount this time was greater. Even so, it seemed so small, for he knew what the Dark could do, the power and strength it had given him...

Hardin paused only a moment, his eyes narrowing in determination before he finished, and the circle flared bright before him. All was as it should be. The circle was intact to bear the majority of the energy required, and all he needed to do was hold onto it, direct it. He did not _need_ further power.

Sydney was still standing by, his pale hair and skin gleaming in the light and catching Hardin's eye. Not for long - he could not let himself be distracted - but he did observe that Sydney was smiling with satisfaction. Whether it was approval for the successful summoning or Hardin's refusal to be even the slightest bit tempted, Hardin did not know.

For safety's sake, Hardin had not summoned one of the greater beasts, but only a minotaur, which snorted impatiently as it looked about for what it might be asked to do. Before the beast could become too annoyed, Hardin sent it back to its usual plane of existence, for he had no task to put it to. Except perhaps... No, the Dark did not bother making its usual suggestion this time. Perhaps it had too much respect for the hallowed ground where he stood - or the man who stood nearby, to whom Hardin now turned. "...I suppose that is that," he muttered, and it was partially a question.

Sydney nodded, answering it. "You've proven yourself as capable as ever of using the Dark," he confirmed, stepping towards Hardin as the energies slithered away. "And no longer does it try to tempt you, at least not beyond what you can bear. I see no reason why you should not return to using it as you see fit." His arms crossed over his chest, one claw tapped his lips thoughtfully. "I suppose I need not remind you to remain mindful even so."

Hardin shook his head. In fact, he had been wondering... "You also think this might be some trick?" he asked. "That the Dark might be only... lulling me into complacency...?"

"It could be," Sydney acknowledged. "Yet I do not believe it to be trickery. Though the Dark continues to find you intriguing, there is a... sullen sense about it, as if it knows it has been turned aside from what it wants."

That was much the same as Hardin's observations of the Dark's temptations since they had returned. The gleeful whispers urging him to bring forth blood and pain were present from the start, but they had grown quieter, and seemed to flee at only a moment of resistance. "Not that I would question it," Hardin said, still puzzled, "but... I wonder why."

"Perhaps it recognizes your strong will, after several times trying to break it," Sydney mused. "You might have earned its respect. Or..." He paused, considering how to phrase it. "I observed at the time that the Dark seemed to stop troubling you so much sometime during the night we spent at that farmstead... and all it entailed." He aimed a coy smile in Hardin's direction. "I suspect it was not the chestnuts."

Indeed, Hardin did not suspect _that_ as a likely explanation, especially when there were other... factors... that might have played a part. "I... still don't understand why," he admitted. "But again, I would not question it."

"Yet it is unsettling, is it not, for something to change when you do not know the reason why?" Sydney pointed out. "For you cannot know whether it might change back. It is quite sensible for you to wonder."

But he fell silent, offering no further exposition, which prompted Hardin to ask. "Do you know, then?"

Sydney shook his head. "I've been considering it myself from time to time, but I could not say. That may have been merely the turning point, where it recognized that you would not give in while I was present - whether because you recalled yourself enough to refuse it, or because I would prevent you. Or perhaps by partaking in the pleasures of the flesh, we provided it with something it wanted. Something that could not happen, were it to separate you from your body."

That was an unpleasant thought, that the Dark had been... watching? "It could not have been involved," Hardin stated, a reminder to them both. "For as I said afterwards... I asked that you not draw my blood. And as much as we both longed for it, you did not." And then, thinking back to that moment with Sydney atop him, it occurred to him... alluring and tempting as the call of the Dark was, Sydney himself was more so, at least in his eyes. Perhaps the Dark recognized that it would always fall short in comparison. 

Sydney nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "...I wondered also if it might have conceded that it _cannot_ claim you for its own. For you already have a master - the same master as it too obeys." He tilted his head curiously when Hardin's brow furrowed a bit at the words. "Come now, Hardin. After years together, after all we have endured, you cannot tell me that you now regret your oath?"

"Far from it." Though once Hardin would have chafed at the thought of having a "master" to obey, such words from Sydney's mouth had come to be more often thrilling. "Rather, I feel I must object to the comparison." He was not like the Dark. Or at least, he hoped he was not.

Again Sydney's finger tapped thoughtfully upon his lips, which curled in a smirk. "The Dark is cunning," he pointed out. "The Dark is strong. The Dark assists those whom it favors to work great feats they could not manage on their own, augmenting their own abilities and revealing their hidden talents. It is a force of nature, near impossible to stand against when it is set upon something - though the Dark falls short there, for you have managed to best it, while it has not managed to best you."

That was... more than fair, Hardin supposed. From Sydney, it was high praise, and he inclined his head in a self-conscious nod. Of course _Sydney_ did not find the Dark disturbing or adversarial.

"...And then also," Sydney added, and Hardin looked up, for his voice had lowered, his smirk had been replaced by a more sober expression. "As our last adventure taught us, I know not how I could live without the Dark."

Hardin looked upon him a moment longer before closing his eyes in silent gratitude. Without the sly expression to draw the attention, he could see the shadows under Sydney's eyes, the haunted look that still lingered within. When Hardin had woken before dawn that morning, Sydney had been already awake, and a bit too eager to suggest that they might take a walk outside if it might help to clear Hardin's head. Hardin's dreams were not the only dreams Sydney wished to dispel, though Hardin was not clear on what Sydney's might have involved. He would have been glad to listen, but he would not ask.

He would not ask of the dreams, at least. Their earlier walk had turned to the suggestion of doing something productive, since they were awake anyhow - and this was why they were now in the temple when the sun had only just properly risen. Hardin opened his eyes again, looking to Sydney. "Anyhow... with this test completed, perhaps we might start the day properly at last?"

Sydney's sober look lessened again, and something of the smirk returned, this time more playful. "...The Dark is also nearly always hungry."

Hardin couldn't help but grin, somewhat sheepish. "Enough, Sydney."

There were things to do for the day, plans that had been made and plans that _were_ to be made - and yes, first there was breakfast to be eaten. By this time it was almost as if nothing had happened at all, the two of them returning with little comment to what passed as ordinary life within Leá Monde, as extraordinary as an outsider might find it. _Almost_ as if nothing had happened, but for the invisible shadows that hovered around them both. It was as Sydney had said, the body's needs were easier to tend to than the soul's... 

Though the body, Hardin supposed, was much easier to thoroughly destroy. He would not have been there if it were a simple thing to destroy a man's soul. Crushed and pierced and smothered... yet he was still there. Still himself, somehow, if Sydney was still teasing him and teaching him the same way he had since the beginning, and he found it entrancing in the same ways.

Hardin felt drawn to reach out, rest a hand fondly on Sydney's shoulder as they turned to make their way above ground again. Sydney said nothing, nor did he hesitate - but he did reach up to rest his own hand upon Hardin's for a moment. Sydney, likewise, was most definitely still Sydney.


End file.
